


The Puppet King

by watchherrise



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Past Child Abuse, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 09:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15882876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchherrise/pseuds/watchherrise
Summary: When Morgana takes over Camelot for the second time, Merlin enchants Arthur to get him safely away. Except instead of the spell wearing off in Tristan and Isolde’s camp - it doesn’t. With Camelot’s king under his control, Merlin has the power to change things in Camelot to his agenda, to set Camelot on the path he was promised it would be.





	The Puppet King

**Author's Note:**

> All characters are property of the BBC. 
> 
> Many thanks and so much love and appreciation for visions-of-red for the beautiful art. I am in awe. And to my lovely editor, Annie, who deals with all the things I throw characters into it. So much thanks for the AC mods for running the event, and all the work they do!

  

 

**_Merlin_ **

 

Arthur was cleaning again. Merlin watched him with faint amusement. It was certainly something to see Arthur so accommodating, so willing to accept Merlin’s suggestions and the things he said. He was sure he had never seen Arthur clean anything in his life – at least not when he could shove it off at Merlin instead.

Once he got Arthur to safety, he would take off the spell. Once he was certain Arthur was not going to turn around and go charging back to his kingdom empty handed. He would do it, Merlin reflected. Arthur would return to Camelot, with nothing but his sword, his words, and his determination to try free his people from Morgana’s tyranny.

While admirable, it was going to get him killed. They needed a plan, they needed Arthur’s knights, they needed to keep Arthur safe so he could win back Camelot.

Arthur paused from his cleaning, looked at him, and smiled. His eyes were dulled, his movements slower, uncertain. As though it was taking longer for his thoughts to change into actions. What was he thinking? His actions and his words were not quite like Arthur. The spell must have changed his thoughts too.

Merlin was not entirely sure how the spelled worked.

When Morgana’s men attacked Tristan and Isolde, Merlin managed to get Arthur and slip away. He spared a moment of thought for them, that this was happening to them because Morgana was looking for Arthur. 

Arthur came with him without hesitation. Without even pausing to think that they should help these people.

* * *

Relief spread through him once he saw the small town of Ealdor spreading before them. It was no longer the place his mind conjured at the word _home_ but it felt like comfort and safety all the same. “C’mon,” he said gently to Arthur, leading him towards his old house. They would have a second to rest, to gather resources, and for Arthur to heal.

He hugged his mother tightly, pressing his face against her shoulder. He almost wished he could stay there, wrapped in the arms of his mother. For a brief moment he felt safe, as if the weight of Albion did not rest on his shoulders.

He pulled away from her, and weight resettled deep into his shoulders. “Arthur’s injured,” he said, with a glance towards his king. He stood a few feet away, glancing around Ealdor. 

Hunith watched with a small frown, as Merlin directed Arthur into their small house.

“If he okay?” she asked once Arthur had been checked over and was soundly sleeping. Merlin glanced towards him. Gwen had come to sit beside him once he had drifted off, not wishing to make things tense by being around while he was awake.

“You just checked his injury,” he said playing slow.

She shook her head. “Not that…” Her eyes were no longer on Merlin, but on Arthur. “I know it has been years since I have seen him. But… he is not the same person he was then.”

He could have made the comment that it was the years since, but he knew what she was talking about. He knew she meant the dullness in his eyes, the slowness in his voice and actions. “It’s just everything that’s happened,” he answered. He would need to get this spell off soon. Now Arthur was safe and healing, it would be safe to. “Losing his kingdom, it’s…”

“I understand,” she said softly, reaching out to squeeze his arm.

* * *

 Gwen did not leave Arthur’s side as he slept. At one point she raised her head, meeting Merlin’s eyes across the room and gave him a sad smile. She had to be wondering what Arthur’s reaction would be once he woke. Merlin was wondering the same thing – was the spell going to impact this too?

He had to get it off him.

_How?_

He knew no anti-spell, there had been no comment of a word, or phrase to say to snap him out of the enchantment. Troubled, his eyebrows drew together, there had to be a way out of the spell. Spells did not last forever…

He thought of his Dragoon disguise and paled. He’d needed external aid to fix that one. And he did not have Gaius here now to help him.

 _It might not come to that,_ he reassured himself. _I can try to reverse it myself when he wakes._  

Impatiently he waited for him to do so, trying not to show Gwen how on edge he was. Running through spells in his mind, pulling on his instinctual magic, he tried to remember anything that could be useful to reverse the enchantment.

Tensely he watched Arthur wake. Sluggishly opening his eyes, and pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Guinevere?” he asked slowly, seeing her sitting beside the bed.

“Arthur,” she breathed. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I you,” he said, though his voice came across as uncertain, his gaze looking around slowly. He hummed and closed his eyes again. Gwen bit down on her lip, and tentatively reached out to take hold of his hand.

* * *

 “He doesn’t… seem quite himself,” Gwen voiced hesitantly to Merlin later that day. They were standing outside the house, looking out into the direction of the trees. Merlin was expecting Morgana’s men to come running out of them at any moment.

“I think it’s just the stress of everything,” Merlin answered, glancing towards her. He hadn’t yet gotten the chance to be with Arthur alone to try and reverse it. But soon. “You didn’t see him the last time that Morgana… he just shut down.” Gwen had only seen Arthur after he had pulled his morale back up. 

Gwen nodded, mouth twisting into a frown. She gave a soft sigh, eyes drifting towards Merlin’s old house. “I’m worried about him,” she admitted.

“I know,” he said. “I am too.”

Hunith came out shortly later, and Merlin managed to sneak back into his house while his mother occupied Gwen.

Arthur glanced up as he entered the room, and gave him a slow smile. “Hey,” Merlin greeted, going to sit in a chair pulled up beside the bed.

“Hey,” Arthur returned.

 _Was Arthur going to notice if Merlin sat in front of him and did magic_? Merlin watched him as Arthur, still a little dull eyed, glanced around the room. _And if he did notice, would he do anything about it?_ Perhaps it would be better not to risk it. 

When he was sure that Arthur was not paying attention to him, his eyes flashed. Nothing happened. He tried again.

All his attempts failed. Frustration building in him, he left the house, his limbs tensed in agitation. As much as he did not want to, he was going to have to call on Kilgharrah’s help.  Arthur could not take back Camelot in the state that he was in.

The sun setting on his back, he hiked a short way from Ealdor. Although the thought of summoning a dragon in the middle of his small town was incredibly amusing, he thought it best to avoid that.

As he called out for the dragon, Merlin looked back over his shoulder to the small flickering lights of Ealdor in the distance. The memory association of home made him think of Camelot. He hoped they were okay.

 _They will be,_ he told himself. Soon he and Arthur would return to take back the city.

 Kilgharrah flew down, and settled on the grass before him. “You are far from Camelot, young warlock.”

 “Morgana has overtaken it again,” he explained, and the dragon’s next words were not entirely unexpected.

“I told you the witch was dangerous.”

“That isn’t the problem,” Merlin said firmly. He and Arthur could take Morgana. They had done it before, and they would succeed again. He just needed Arthur back to normal.

He told the dragon his predicament, and there was a tense pause as he waited for a response. Something uncomfortable settled in his gut. “There is nothing I can do, young warlock.”

 Another pause.

“What?”

“You cast the spell. The hold on Arthur’s mind is your own. I cannot undo that.”

 _You’re not helpful,_ he thought sourly, frowning at him. “Then can you tell me how to reverse my spell?”

“It’s intended to wear off. You must wait until it does.”

“How long will that take?”

“That depends on how powerful the spell cast was.”

“And if it was powerful?” he asked, trying to think back to the amount of magic he threw into the spell. His magic was always strongest when it was directed towards saving Arthur.

“It could last years.”

His world froze in place in the briefest of moments that felt like eternity. _Years?_ His eyes widened, and open mouthed he stared at Kilgharrah. That could not be possible, the dragon must be wrong. He could not wait for years for Arthur to return to himself. The damage that Morgana would do… and to just not have Arthur as himself… “That can’t be right,” he protested weakly.

“This was your doing. You must face the consequences.”

“But Camelot…”

“Can still be saved.”

“How?” he demanded. How could they save Camelot without its king? There was no figurehead to rally the knights and the people around. He could not place Arthur as he currently was, back upon his throne. He would not be able to rule.

“Control the circumstances,” the dragon said. And then, in its usual fashion, flew up into the air. Merlin scowled after it, face twisting in anger and frustration. He was meant to be useful, he was meant to be helpful. He was currently anything but.

“Control the circumstances,” he muttered, turning back to Ealdor. “If I could control the circumstances we wouldn’t be in this mess.” If Arthur hadn’t been so noble that he wouldn’t leave on his own accord… if Merlin had not been forced to manipulate his mind. 

He paused in his walking, and frowned. Arthur had been magically manipulated once, could he do so again? It may not be returning Arthur to himself, but if he could give the illusion of it… play with the puppeteer strings so Arthur could rally the knights around.

He would be a figure head. Merlin could control the decisions from the background. He had always felt as though Camelot would run significantly smoother if Arthur just _listened_ to his opinions once or twice. 

The question then became how. But he could surely work that out.

* * *

His eyes flared gold. Arthur’s eyes glossed over, staring blankly into the room behind him. Merlin gave a frustrated hiss. His words could influence Arthur, but he couldn’t just go around whispering to him all the time…

He needed to get into his head.

Two sides of the same coin. He must be able to get a link between them. Arthur hummed, watching Merlin with dulled blue eyes, that were slowly coming back into focus. “You have magic.” 

The words made Merlin tense. He was throwing magic around directly in front of him. But the words still brought a violent fear up from his gut, and his body yearned to flee from the room. Arthur’s expression was passive. For a moment, something flickered across it, but before it could be placed, it was gone.

“Yes,” Merlin said.

Arthur hummed again, looking around him. _You’re hopeless,_ he thought, watching him with a frown. _You’re not here at all, are you?_

He clenched his teeth, feeling them scrape together in his mouth. _We are connected,_ he thought, eyes staring to glow. _I can control you._ Visualising his magic as a physical force, he shoved it out towards Arthur, encircling him. It was strands of brilliant gold, a golden web that clung around him, leading back to Merlin. 

Arthur stiffened, and Merlin gasped. He could feel the connection. There was a small thrum in his mind that was so distinctly _Arthur._ Focusing on it, blurred his vision red and gold.

The gold bled from his eyes, and his vision returned to normal, the golden strands fading. A sudden fatigue overcame him, his bones ached, his limbs felt heavy. But he could still feel the small presence of Arthur in his mind.

It was admittedly a comfortable feeling, as though he fit there.

 _Now what?_ He wondered. Perhaps if he flooded all of his memories of Arthur through the link between them… his perceptions of how Arthur acted, and what he was like. 

Arthur lurching across the stands to pick up the gauntlet from the Black Knight, failing, throwing his gauntlet at the knight the next morning. Him throwing daggers at Merlin flinching behind a shield. Arthur surrounded by the town people of Ealdor… standing blank faced at executions… running his sword through Carleon, and later negotiating peace with Annis… the moment his crown was placed atop his head.

He poured them towards him, as the bond between them thrummed. Finally, he stopped, and collapsed back into the rickety wooden chair that he was sitting in, closing his eyes.

“ _Merlin,_ ” a familiar voice drawled. Grudgingly he opened his eyes, and was met with a bright eyed Arthur, lips curled into his mock amusement.

Relief and satisfaction flooded over him. With a smug smile, he stared back at his king. _Got you._

* * *

Gwen poked her head into the room, smiling at them in greeting. Seeing her, Arthur’s expression hardened, causing Gwen to lose her smile.

“Guinevere,” his tone was terse. Hiding his pain, most likely, Merlin thought.

“Arthur,” she returned softly, impression pained. Beside him, Arthur twitched. “I was just checking up on you…”

 “I’m fine.” The dismissal in his tone was clear. Merlin looked between them, eyebrows pulling together in a frown, until Gwen slowly edged back out of the house.

“She misses you,” he said, looking at Arthur. “And I know you miss her too.” The events with Mithian had been a clear indication of that.

Arthur’s expression faltered briefly, before he pressed his lips together. “That does not change what she did to me.”

“She loves you, Arthur,” to see them have come so close after so many years of stepping around each other… to fall apart now… it was frustrating. “Can’t you forgive her?” he asked, willing that he would. All he wanted was for his friends to be happy, and he knew that this would help.

He could feel a thrum deep inside him, and Arthur’s expression turned thoughtful. “Perhaps I could…” Merlin could see the faintest echo of the web around him. His eyes widened. That was not Arthur listening to his suggestion, that was him being compelled by it.

Without another word of warning, Arthur got to his feet, leaving the house. Merlin stared after him in bewildered. Well… it couldn’t hurt, could it? He knew that it would make them both happier.

He just had to be more careful in the future, about what thoughts reached him.

When he left the house later, he saw them both under a tree. Arthur’s back was towards him, but Gwen had a small smile on her face.

 _It’s not that bad,_ he thought, smiling faintly.

* * *

 

When Agravaine and Morgana’s men came to Camelot, Merlin still snuck back to remove Agravaine from being a threat. But this time, Arthur did not follow him back through the tunnels to make sure that he had been alright. Merlin did not expect it, so it did not occur to Arthur to do. 

Stormy eyed, he met them outside the edge of the tunnels. There was a violence thrumming underneath his skin, the vision of Agravaine sprawled on the rocky floor clear in his mind. 

Arthur looked at him for a moment, and then set off towards the trees, to find his men.

He was already prepared for a fight, ready to win back his throne, and so Excalibur stood forgotten in its stone, still waiting for its rightful owner.

* * *

“I thought we were friends.” Arthur had always been forgiving, trusting. A little misguided perhaps, but with a heart of gold. It was going to be his downfall. He stood there, offering Morgana a chance of peace. 

“As did I.” There was a moment of tenseness, where Merlin thought that Arthur was going to forgive her, to give her the chance to be welcomed back into Camelot. _Arthur, that would be disastrous._ He did not mean to, but his magic thrummed with the words, and Arthur briefly lit up. No one else in the room acknowledged it, leading Merlin to confirm that he was the only one that could see it.

Morgana opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, Arthur cut across her. “Leave, Morgana.”

Her eyes widened briefly, before pulling together into a scowl. “Never. This is my kingdom.”

“No. _Leave._ ” He withdrew his sword again, and all occupants of the room glanced at him. Merlin pressed his lips together. _If he forgives her, she’ll tear Camelot apart…_

Morgana’s expression hardened. “You would have killed me,” she said, voice firm in her beliefs. “You do not deserve the throne.”

Her magic failed. She ran.

And with it, her resistance crumbled. Her men dispersed. And Camelot was left to slowly build itself back up again. To fix itself after a second overthrow in such a short period of time. They could do it though, Merlin had faith in them all. 

* * *

 

“By the sacred laws vested in me, I crown you, Guinevere, Queen of Camelot.” 

As the crown was placed down on her head, Merlin grinned. This was how it was meant to be. Arthur and Guinevere, as king and queen. They stood up there, hand in hand, trying to look serious, but Guinevere’s eyes shone, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. Arthur did not take his eyes off of her. 

Merlin did not regret what he had done. They were happy, and wasn’t that the important bit?

 

Every morning he entered Arthur’s room hoping that was the morning that he discovered that the spell had run its course, and Arthur would be back to normal. Every moment he was disappointed. It was not even entering the room that alerted him to it – he wasn’t even sure he would be able to tell the difference between Arthur and Arthur who had been spelled to how he perceived him. But every morning he woke, and he could still feel the steady thrum of magic entwined with Arthur under his skin, and he knew that nothing had changed.

But he looked the same, he acted the same. And there were moments where he forgot.

Arthur sat at his table, working through some patrol report, as Merlin whisked around the room, putting everything back in its place. It was a normal scene for them, Arthur working on his kingly duties, Merlin working on his more domestic ones, neither of them talking. Merlin smiled, and turned back to continue folding laundry. 

* * *

 

The knights were gathered around the round table, Merlin standing a few feet to the side, eyes fixated on Arthur.

“It has been weeks since anyone last heard anything of Morgana,” Sir Leon said to the council, his fingers running over a report open on the table before him. “Most like hiding and creating a new plan,” his lips pressed together. “We are going to have to be extra vigilant to any new comers trying to introduce themselves into the castle. There is always the possibility they will be a spy from Morgana,” his eyes flickered to Arthur, and it was clear in that moment he was thinking of Agravaine.

Arthur made no verbal acknowledgement to Leon’s words, though he was frowning at the table in front of him. Mentions of Morgana still got to him, references towards his uncle… reminders of the people he had placed trust in, and who had thrown that back into his face.

 _Leon is right,_ Merlin thought, as he stood to the side of the room, his eyes on the back of Arthur’s head. _Who will you allow to betray you this time?_

 _Thrum._  

Arthur slowly raised his head, looking across the table to meet Leon’s eyes, who was watching him with a slight furrowed brow. “I don’t have any family left to betray me.”

 _But family are not the only ones you need to be wary of, Arthur._ Merlin thought, even as he acknowledged that that comment was not entirely true. Morgana still lived. Gwen was now his family. Not that he ever thought she would do such a thing. 

“I won’t let anyone get into that position again,” Arthur continued, tone closed off closed off.

The other eyes in the room were fixated on Arthur. The king turned his head to glance around them, and the room tensed. From where he was standing, Merlin saw Arthur fold his hands together, and give Leon a nod to continue.

Leon stalled briefly, then his eyes flickered back to the page in front of him. “We increased patrols after the attack, and I suggest we continue to keep them so, to ensure Morgana –“ he paused as Arthur suddenly rose, heading for the door without a word. Merlin quickly followed, as Leon continued to speak, trouble clear in his tone. “Or anyone else attempting to try anything – do not get the chance to.”

“Arthur,” Merlin called, as the door shut behind them. Arthur did not turn around, continuing to walk down the hallway. “ _Arthur."_  

“Leave me,” he said sharply, coming to a sudden halt, though he still did not turn.

Merlin snorted. Right, like that was ever going to happen. “I’m not going to start listening to you now,” he said, tone teasing, as he came to stand beside him.

Slowly Arthur’s head turned to look at him, and the expression in his eyes was cold. “I meant what I said about people not getting into that position again,” he stated. 

Merlin stared at him for a moment, expression pulling into a frown.  “You can trust _me._ ” _Thrum._

 _Oh no._ He felt his magic flare, and bit down on his lip. But Arthur needed to trust him. _He can’t do this without you._ And the king had nothing to fear from him. He would never betray him.

Arthur, his mouth open in rebuttal, shut it, and shrugged. The coldness faded from his eyes, leaving tiredness in its wake. He ran a hand through his head. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to run this country.” His voice was soft, vulnerable. In the way it only ever was in dire circumstances, when the weight of his crown pushed down too much.

Troubled, Merlin looked at him. _Yes you do,_ his eyes widened as he tried to pull the thought away from the bond between them. He kept forgetting how easy it was for ideas to settle into Arthur’s brain. He wanted Arthur to believe it, but he should not be forced to. 

“Gaius needs me,” he spluttered, and ran off down the hall before he could get a response. Gaius glanced up as he raced into the room, but he had barely voiced his startled ‘Merlin’ before he was pulling the door shut behind him. _What was he going to do?_

When he resurfaced from his room, Gaius had left, and Merlin took the chance to pull a few books down from his shelves. There had to be _something_ he could do. When Kilgarrah had said they had to wait and see, Merlin had not been expecting it to take this long.

Of course, there had been the suggestion that it could take years. But he had hoped that wouldn’t be true.

“There has to be something in one of these books,” Merlin mumbled, flicking through one of them. He was however doubtful. There had been nothing in the magical book that Gaius had first given him when he came to Camelot, and these other books were likely to be less help.

Admittedly, when Kilgarrah had been unable to help him, that should have been the sign. The dragon knew a great deal, after all. 

He thwacked his head down onto the book. Wincing as a dull pain flashed through his head. “There’s got to be something,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. He had to find a way. 

It was in that position that Gaius found him some hours later. “Merlin,” he said, pushing him on the shoulder.

He startled awake, nearly knocking the book off the table. “Mmm?” he mumbled, blinking at Gaius through bleary eyes.

“What’s the matter, Merlin? Falling asleep on books is a sign that Camelot is in danger.”

Slowly Merlin sat up straighter, trying to blink awake his sleep fogged head. He didn’t know how to answer that question. Could he admit Gaius what he had done? What he was doing? Could he admit the person currently in charge of the country was barely aware of what he was doing? Was not in control of his own actions?

No, he could not. “Just more tired than I thought,” he said dismissively, giving Gaius a sheepish grin. The man eyed him sceptically, but Merlin did what Merlin did best, shot him a cheerful grin, and quickly moved himself away from the problem.

* * *

He’d lost the king. Arthur wasn’t in the throne room or the council room. Ducking his head into his private rooms only found Gwen sitting at the kitchen table. Her head raised as the door opened, though her expression fell when she saw who it was.

“No need to look so disappointed,” he said jokingly, though he stepped further into the room, across to her. “What’s the matter?” He flopped into the chair beside her, and held his tongue on the question of if she knew where Arthur was. It was likely that this forlorn expression on her face had been caused by a certain Pendragon. 

She shook her head. “It sounds so stupid…”

“You can tell me,” he said. Bright eyes, and face earnest. A face Camelot had learned to trust.

“Arthur’s acting so strangely…”

His eyebrows pulled together. _Oh no._ “Strangely how…?” he asked slowly. 

“It’s…this is the bit that sounds stupid,” she said, twisting her fingers together. These last weeks had been difficult on her, as she struggled to adjust to her new position within the castle. “Maybe it’s just all the stress from what happened with Morgana…” her voice was soft.

“It could be,” he agreed, knowing that it was anything but. Perhaps it could have been, if Merlin had not been interfering with his head. 

“He doesn’t seem himself,” her eyes were not on him as she spoke, but watching her fingers that continued to turn together. “It’s like… he keeps…” she shook her head. “I just can’t help think it’s because of what I…” 

“He’s been through a lot recently,” he said. “And this is an adjustment for him too,” he reached over and squeezed her hand. “Don’t rush him.” She raised her eyes to meet his, and smiled very weakly.

“I know he has, I didn’t mean to-“ she grimaced. “I just want him to be okay.”

“I know,” he said, giving her what was meant to be a reassuring smile. “He will be.” If Merlin could ever figure out how to get this spell off him. If he couldn’t… then he didn’t know what was going to happen. He couldn’t explain any of this to Gwen however, it was too tied up with his magic. He loved her dearly, but there were some secrets that needed to be taken to the grave. 

* * *

 

He came to dread council meetings. Every time he and Arthur set off to one, his gut churned uncomfortably. He wondered if this was what Arthur constantly felt like? The weight pressing into his shoulders, the anxiousness spinning in his stomach, the awareness that every decision he made had an impact.

It was not exactly a new feeling, but it was different. Merlin could attest to the heavy weight on his shoulders, the suffocating feelings of duty and fate. With his own, and feeling as though he had taken on Arthur’s, it was difficult to breath.

He held Camelot in his hands.

The wellbeing of the country, the future of the country, all now rested with him.

The eyes of the knights as he and Arthur entered the room were anything but reassuring. Suspicion followed Arthur, wariness, uncertainty, disappointment. _We can do this,_ Merlin thought taking a deep breath, moving to his place behind the table. The eyes stayed on Arthur.

“There are whispers that Odin is amassing an army to attack Camelot,” Sir Kay said. Merlin tensed, as did a collection of other knights around the table. Odin had been a threat to Arthur for a long time, but he had never acted out against the country as a whole. Perhaps he had known under Uther that he would not win a war. Things had changed.

All eyes on Arthur, the young king shrugged his shoulders. “We have nothing to fear,” then without taking a breath continued. “Leon, you had a report on the harvest?”

Leon did not speak at first, just blinked at him a few times. “I – uh – yes,” he said, brows pulled together. Slowly he opened a bit of parchment in front of him, and began to talk.

Merlin, stunned, missed the beginning of what Leon was saying. It was one thing to be certain that they could handle any threat thrown their way, but to dismiss it completely?  And from Odin, someone who had tried to kill Arthur numerous times. Why had he done that? For all he mocked Arthur of running headfirst into battles without thinking, he had thought Arthur was more careful than that. 

But if he was thinking that it was strange, than wouldn’t he have also given all those memories across to Arthur? Wouldn’t Arthur also know to be careful, and take threats seriously?

Had his perception of Arthur’s confidence translated across as carelessness? A bravery inspired recklessness. 

Did he remember all of his years of strategy? Merlin knew he was strategic, and had imparted that thought on him, but did that mean that Arthur just thought that he was? Or that he actually had the strategy to combine with it? Or with his autonomy had the spell taken his years of strategy too?

Could he continue to trust Arthur now? Should he let Arthur continue to run these meetings, when he – outside of Merlin’s control – did things like ignore the threats on the edge of their kingdom.

He did not think that he could.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he listened to the rest of the harvest report. If he could not trust Arthur’s judgement, then he had to pay strict attention to everything that was going on. He had to know everything so that he could make Arthur make the correct judgements.

This was going to be exhausting.

* * *

 

 

“Merlin, what are you doing?” Merlin glanced up from where he was reading reports on Arthur’s desk, to see his king, looking at him expectantly. He hadn’t even heard him come into the room.

“Reading?” he suggested, rubbing at his eyes.

“And _why_ are _you_ reading patrol reports?” there were the faintest drawl to his tone.

Merlin blinked a couple of times, trying to will away the tiredness that was creeping through the edges. “I’m interested in the affairs of the kingdom?” he suggested. Was that such an unexpected to thing to be? 

Arthur snorted, looking down at him with amusement. “They’re none of your concern, _Merlin_. Shouldn’t you be doing work?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m doing this. Let me.” He felt the thrum of magic twist its way through the bond. Shrugging his shoulders, Arthur turned away from him. Merlin watched him for a few more moments, before he turned his attention back to the patrol report in front of him. He needed to get through as much of this as possible.

* * *

 In one day, a whole collection of people had come up to him, asking if he knew what was going on with Arthur. Gaius had been eyeing Merlin suspiciously, his tone demanding answers. Merlin flittered around it, with shrugs, and confusion, escaping at first possibility. 

Leon had come forth, on behalf of the knights, and asked if there was anything happening that he should know about. The knights were concerned, and so was he. Feeling as though Arthur was not taking everything as seriously as he should be – or that he was taking the things that shouldn’t be serious, far too seriously. Merlin had claimed stress, again shrugged his shoulders, and said that he would talk to Arthur about it. He wasn’t going to talk to Arthur about it.

Gwen had been last. With tears in her eyes, and fingers twisting together. She just wanted to know what was happening, whether there was anything that she could do to help. There was nothing that Merlin could say to her, that he hadn’t said to the others. He just told her that everything would work out, and try not to worry.

He did not sleep very well that night. Instead he wandered in circles around the castle, his footsteps echoing jarringly on the stone floor. The guards that he passed paid him no mind, Merlin had had the authority to wander the castle for a very long time. The castle slept beneath his feet, but his own thoughts spun too wildly to allow him that peace.

If he had known what this was going to cause…would he have done it? _Yes._ Was his automatic reaction. It had been the right decision to make at the time, he needed to get Arthur out of the city, and he never would have gone willingly. There was no saying what could have happened if he had stayed… He had been injured. Morgana would have gotten him. And then he’d be dead.

This was better than Arthur being dead.

Taking a deep breath, Merlin looking through a window out into the darkened courtyard. He could see some flames of the guards patrolling through it, keeping their eyes open for anyone approaching. He wondered whether Morgana was going to try again, it had been months… and there had been no sight or sound of her. Though that didn’t mean a lot, admittedly. Last time a lot of her work had been through Agravaine… was there anyone in Camelot now, who was working for Morgana? It was a possibility…

As far as he was aware there was no one new in Camelot that could be a danger, but that didn’t mean… he would have to keep an eye out. And there was always the chance that it was yet another person who Arthur thought that he could trust. Morgana had been popular in Camelot as Uther’s ward, she may have made allies around the knights…

Troubled, he continued his walk. He was going to need to keep a firm eye on the knights, and everyone else that interacted around Arthur. There were a select few he knew he could trust; Gwen, the inner knights… but everyone else was up for investigation. 

* * *

 

“You’re required in the throne room, sire.”

Frowning, Arthur placed his quill down and rose to his feet. Buckling his sword at his waist he turned to the knight who had come to him. “For what purpose?” he asked. Merlin fell into behind them, as he always did around others. 

“One of the castle seamstresses has been accused of witchcraft.”

Arthur’s eyebrows pulled together and he frowned, asking no more questions. Merlin’s heart sank in his chest.  He knew where this would end. Where this always ended. Despite all the hope that he had held for Arthur… the promise that he made to the Druids after the spirit possessed Elyan… all his talks of being just and caring for _all_ of his people.

They reached the throne room. Arthur crossed to the front, his expression impassive. He looked regal, and deadly. There was something in his eye that chilled Merlin to the bone. Kneeling before him was a woman. She did not look at Arthur, but instead stared at his feet, her arms wrapped around her. Her fingers pressed into the palms of her hands, her fingers white. She was shaking, rocking slowly back and forth where she kneeled. 

Merlin had to close his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, he could not look at her. But instead he looked to Arthur, who seemed to see none of these things. Arthur who had the ability to save her, Arthur who could stop any of this ever happening again.

Merlin knew the fear she would have been living in every day. He could imagine the way that her heart seized when the knights came to arrest her, the way that her head would have spun, and the earth threatened to fall from beneath her feet. He could picture those things all too clearly.

  _You could stop this too._ His mind nudged him gently.

 Arthur was speaking, but Merlin could not make out the words. It all sounded like jumble as his mind stalled over the fact that he could stop what was happening here. He’d been accidentally altering Arthur these past months… they were small, insubstantial things. If he would do it for that, shouldn’t he do it for _this._ This was important, this was saving somebody’s life. Surely that was more worth it.

 _Pardon her._ The bond between them flared. It was only for a moment but the sudden brightness made his head spin. Closing his eyes again, he tried to find Arthur’s voice. “-are free to go.”

Silence filled the room.

Slowly, Merlin opened his eyes again, and was met by a court of surprise. No one was watching the shaking girl on the floor anymore, all eyes were on their king. Those eyes did not only hold surprise, but hints of condemnation, of disapproval, of complete and utter shock.

Arthur’s gaze swept over the room, the gazes dropped from his. Without another word, he walked out of the room. Whispers followed him as he left, but Merlin did not wait around to hear what they were. His place was with Arthur, as it always was.

A seed of guilt settled itself into his stomach. The other things had been small. Did it really matter in the grand scheme of things if he told Arthur to leave him alone? Or if he got him to forgive a person that Merlin knew that he loved, and was happy with? But this… he _knew_ Arthur was against this.

Every fibre of his being knew that Arthur would have condemned that woman. That he would have sent her straight to the pyre with no regrets. He was manipulating Arthur to do something that he knew that Arthur would disapprove of.

But…

Arthur had failed the magical community.

Thinking that made Merlin’s heart tighten, and his limbs felt leaden as he moved his way through the castle. _Was there not meant to be a golden age?_ He wondered. Weren’t they meant to bring peace? To unite Albion? How was that meant to happen when the Pendragons were so dead set of destroying everyone…

Feeling as though he had been punched in the gut – a feeling that he knew all too well due to training sessions with Arthur – he stopped walking. _He could change things._ He had control over Arthur. Arthur had control over Camelot.

Maybe he alone could bring the peace to Camelot that Camelot was destined for. He could use this unfortunate position placed before him to do _good._ He had let so many things happen in the name of protecting Arthur, so many chances to right wrongs lost…

He had protected Uther. He had defended Arthur. He had spoken against magic.

It was his turn now.

Unaware that Merlin had fallen behind, Arthur turned a corner out of his sight. Trying to regain his breath, Merlin pressed his hand against the stone wall. The seed of guilt had nestled deeper, but overwhelming it was the burning desire to achieve something. He had always wanted to help people, to protect them. This was his chance.

There was no sign of Arthur returning to consciousness. It had been _months._

It had been _years_ since he had come to Camelot and had been told of this golden future that he would be given. That was a lie. He was being given no future. He was going to have to take it. His magic curled underneath his skin, burning its way to the surface. He could feel it thrumming alongside the beat of his heart. He held Camelot in his hands, and he was going to take it. He would forge this golden future.

He could still feel his magic thrumming deep inside of him, urging him forward with every step, pushing him towards his actions. He felt _alive._ He felt like he had when he accepted that his and Arthur’s destinies were intertwined. He had a purpose.

He just had to reign this feeling in to achieve what he wanted. When he finally followed Arthur the rest of the way back to Arthur’s rooms, he was grateful to find that Gwen was not there. Gwen might notice that somewhere was off. Arthur wouldn’t, because Arthur never did.

The king was sitting at his desk, and barely acknowledged the fact that someone had just entered the room. His eyes flickered up briefly, but he offered no greeting before returning back to the work in front of him. Pulling a chair out of the table, Merlin sat down watching his king.

Taking a deep breath, he felt for the bond between them. Purposely searching it out was bizarre, feeling for the part of him that was so vividly _Arthur._ The bond flared. Merlin took another deep breath. _You will change the magic laws. You will give magical people back their freedom. They will be welcome back in Camelot again._

Quill hovering above the page, Arthur stopped writing. He stayed like that for a few moments, as though frozen in place. Nervously, Merlin watched him. A few seconds later, he placed the quill down and got to his feet. “Arthur?” Merlin asked tentatively.

“I need to organise a council meeting,” he said, heading for the door. Merlin blinked a little bit, but then got up of his chair and followed behind him. He was calling a council meeting already? That was more sudden than he had been expecting. Not that he was complaining, the sooner that this was sorted out… the sooner that things would be better for his people.

And everything that he had gone through would be worth it.

The word of the council meeting spread quickly through the castle, and soon they were all in the room, eyeing Arthur expectantly. Merlin could sense the tenseness that was left over from the trial earlier that day, and the way that some of the eyes followed Arthur. Some – like Leon, who would have followed Arthur blindly to the end of the world, – looked unaffected by the change of events, but there were others, whose expressions were clearly unimpressed.

Was it too soon to throw another kink in the rope? _No,_ he thought firmly. It had been too long. It was time.

“I’m going to change the magic laws.”

There was no lead into it, no setting of the scene, no highlight of the goals that he was seeking to achieve. Just a firm statement that left no room for interpretation, no room for discussion. This was happening, whether anyone else liked it or not. _Good,_ Merlin thought, watching as chaos erupted inside of the room. _It is long overdue._

There was a clamour of voices, each speaking loudly over the others, desperately trying to make their voices heard. The older councillors, who had been Uther’s men, looked as though the world had been tipped from underneath their feet. Even Leon was looking at Arthur in surprise, frowning lightly. Ever resilient, he said nothing. Gauis was looking at Merlin. Merlin pretended not to see.

“Silence,” Arthur ordered, his tone low and clear. The room quietened, but the energy was still apparent. Almost no one else was sitting calmly in their seats. “The magical community has been treated awfully for long enough, it is time for that to change,” as the voices erupted again, he held up his hand. “I am not going into discussion about this. It is final.” There was fury sitting in the eyes of the councillors.

After the meeting was over, and Arthur went to leave, Leon caught up with him. “Sire,” he started, pausing for a moment as Arthur’s gaze turned to him. “You need the support of the councillors, you must work with them.”

“I am the king,” Arthur said dismissively, causing Leon to frown more. “This change is happening.”

“I am not saying that it shouldn’t,” he answered carefully. “But I feel as though, for such a…momentous change in Camelot law, perhaps some more…tact was required.”

“Thank you for your observations.” It was a clear dismissal, and Leon fell back, eyebrows pulled together. Merlin glanced over his shoulder back at him, and he had turned to Gwaine, talking softly. He couldn’t catch what it was that was being said.

* * *

“Was that your doing, Merlin?”

“Good afternoon to you as well, Gaius,” he commented sourly, barely two steps into the physician’s quarters.

“Don’t avoid the question,” he said sharply, getting up from his desk to face the young man. A little startled, Merlin looked back at him. Gaius did not often get quite so sharp with him. “Was that your doing?”

“Are you suggesting that Arthur is incapable of doing such a thing?” that was neither an admittance, or a refusal. Though he was curious, did Gaius not think that Arthur would make that change without it actually being Merlin in the background?  

“I am suggesting Arthur has been a politician since he was a child. He knows how to play the game. A point blank statement and a refusal to discuss is not the way that he was taught to lead.”

“It’s the way Uther led,” Merlin pointed out, eyeing the old man. Maybe he had been a little careless. But it wasn’t as though it was that much of an out of character declaration for Arthur… he could be that firm.

“And as you have pointed out many times, Arthur is not Uther. But those words that came out of his mouth then, were very like your own. And you are dancing around my questions, _what did you do?”_

“We deserve this, Gaius,” he protested. “How long have I been in Camelot? How long has Arthur been King and changed nothing? I was _promised_ freedom,” his voice rose with each word, and his magic crackled under his skin. “I waited for Arthur to become king to change things. And he never did. So I’m changing things myself.” He felt in control, and for one of the first times since he had arrived in Camelot, in charge of his life. He was no longer being led by his destiny. He was leading it.

Gaius was quiet for a few long moments, looking at the young warlock standing in front of him, breathing heavily. “And what when Arthur realises what you made him say?” he asked, his tone calm.

“He won’t. He’s not aware of anything at the moment,” Gaius frowned. Merlin slumped the tiniest bit, and explained what had been going on this past year.

“ _Merlin._ ”

“I can’t solve it!” he yelled. “I tried! I’ve done everything I could! I spoke the dragon and he said we just had to wait for it to run out on its own course…” he swallowed. “If I had left him how he was, _everyone_ would have known he wasn’t Arthur. We never would have won Camelot back, and if we had, we’d have every kingdom in Albion trying to overtake it. It was the best thing to do to protect everyone in this city.”

“And achieve your own goals. 

“That wasn’t the reason,” he protested.

“But you have turned it into it. You never should have done it to start with.”

Merlin shook his head. He had had to. “Arthur never would have left Camelot.” He would have stayed and fought to the death for his kingdom. He had been injured, he never would have made it. Merlin had saved him.

 “And that would have been his choice." 

“Then he would have _died._ ” His voice rose again, though this time it was harsh and firm. It echoed the way that he had spoken to Agravaine in the tunnel, and it took a lot of effort to stop his magic swirling dangerously around him, crackling through the air. “I saved his life.”

“You saved his body,” Gaius corrected, disapproval painted clearly across his face. As Merlin opened his mouth to speak again, Gaius shook his head, and turned his attention back to what he had been doing on his desk. “That is all I wish to say on the matter, Merlin.” There was a coldness to his tone, that Merlin had never heard directed at him before.

Frowning, he watched as the physician continued mixing a potion in the cauldron before him. “I saved his life,” he muttered, going up to his rooms. That made everything worth it. He would not have let Arthur die, whatever it took, he was not allowing that to happen.

* * *

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur drawled. He was sitting at his desk, some form of work in front of him. Merlin didn’t know what it was, and in this moment, he didn’t care. He was trying to clean Arthur’s floor. He could have quite easily done it with magic, he knew. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t stop Arthur doing anything to him, but it was ingrained within him not to use magic for chores. Gaius had seen to that. “I really don’t see why it takes you so long.”

Merlin tensed, hand stopping from where it was rubbing down the floors. “You’ve never cleaned a floor in your _life,_ ” he retorted, looking up at him. “Like you would have _any_ idea how long it takes, or the effort behind it.”

“The effort?” he snorted. “You’re wiping a brush up and down the floor, it couldn’t be that hard then.”

“You try it then,” Merlin challenged.

He snorted. “Not happening.”

“You try it then,” he repeated, dropping the brush and getting up to his feet. _Thrum._ Merlin watched with satisfaction as Arthur put down the scroll that he was reading, and moved over to the bucket of water. When Arthur knelt down to pick up the brush, he paused. _What am I doing?_

“Arthur, stop,” he said softly. And the king did. “Go back to your work.” Slowly, he went. Merlin watched him, pinching the bridge of his nose. What was he doing? He couldn’t keep doing this. But it was so tempting… To finally get Arthur back for all of the crap that he had made him do. All the years of mockery… Didn’t he deserve some retribution for that? And it wasn’t as though he was harming him.

Scrubbing some floors for once in his life wasn’t going to do anything to Arthur. In fact it might actually help him. To understand part of what he was asking of his staff. It was something that Merlin appreciated from Gwen, having gone from a servant to a Queen. She appreciated what he did for them. 

Arthur never had. 

Maybe he did deserve it.

Before he could take back his decision again, and yoyo Arthur back and forth, he left the room. He was half expecting Arthur to call him back to tell him to finish the job of cleaning the floors, but he didn’t.

“Merlin?” so distracted in his thoughts he almost walked into Gwen before he realised that she was there. Pulling himself to a stop, he looked up at her. 

“Gwen,” he greeted, trying to smile at her.

“Is anything the matter?” she asked, concerned.

He shook his head. “It’s nothing, Gwen.”

She eyed him. “You’re sure?”

He nodded.

“Alright…” she said frowning. “But you do know you can talk to me about anything don’t you?” He nodded, and she nodded back, still frowning. “Now if Arthur would see that too,” she said softly. When Merlin opened his mouth to say something, she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, Merlin. Excuse me.”

He watched her leave, and took a deep breath, moving so that he could lean back against the wall. This was a mess. He had created a mess. But he knew, if faced with the same set of decisions again, he would make the exact same choices.

 

 

**_Arthur_ **

 

He was drowning. Smothered. He couldn’t breathe, brain a hazy fog that he couldn’t focus through. Everything was blurry, unfocused. He knew he was moving, that things were happening, but he could not make his brain tune into what was happening outside his body.

He wanted to scream.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t.

The fog was smothering him, and even the slight bits of consciousness that he had gathered was fading. _I can’t…_

* * *

 

He was awake. Of sorts. He could feel himself moving, his feet stepping, his mouth talking. But he had no control over it. Arthur tried to stop his body from moving but it continued to. The feeling made his skin crawl. If he had enough control over his body to throw up, he would have.

It was still hazy. He could feel the movement, but he was still unable to fight through the fog enough to work out what was going on. He was so tired… he couldn’t keep fighting through this. He just…he needed to rest.

Although his head was still foggy he could see now. 

That made it worse.

Sitting at his desk, he eyed a patrol report ahead of him. He could not make himself pick up the quill to make an addition, or glance around the room.

He was trapped. In his mind. He could feel the beginning of a scream in his throat, but it never went any further, only adding to his sense of frustration. It burned underneath his skin, twisting nastily. He wanted to _move._

The door opened. His head glanced up to it. Guinevere stood there. _Guinevere._ So many conflicting emotions overcame him in that moment. He was desperately glad to see her, and he yearned to reach out and hug her tightly. He had missed her terribly. But… the memory of the last time that he had seen her still hung vividly in his mind. Finding her with Lancelot… her tears as he had banished her… his heart ached.

What was she doing here? Why had she come back? Why was she coming to his room? The expression on her face was not one of contrite, or wariness, or uncertainty. She smiled at him. “How are you, Arthur?” she asked, as she moved into the room.

Then he noticed the clothes.

Those were not servant clothes. They were not even the clothes of nobility. She crossed the room over to him in the clothing of a queen. _What?_ His mind froze. Whirling over the scene in front of him.

Even if he had control of his body, he wouldn’t have been able to make himself talk. Yet he still felt the answer leaving him. “I’m well, thank you. Yourself?” A sense of panic rose in his gut, twisting with the sickly feeling. Guinevere was a _queen._ When had that… how had that… he had no recollection of making that choice, or even allowing her back into Camelot… The last that he could remember, Morgana had just overtaken the city…

Had that all been a dream? No. It couldn’t have been. This must be the dream. This was the bit that made no sense. This did not fit in with everything that he knew, and he remembered. Camelot had been gone, Guinevere banished. There was no way he could be sitting here now, with her as his queen. That was inconceivable. It made no sense. It couldn’t… 

“I’m good,” she replied, coming over and squeezing his shoulder. “Try not to work yourself too hard, okay?”

“I won’t." 

This had to be a dream. He was going to wake up and… be somewhere. What had happened to Camelot? Morgana had it… had he been knocked out? Maybe he was delirious… a fever dream, or a consequence of being knocked out. Nothing else made sense.

The day slowly waned on. Guinevere left the room, and he was alone. Still unable to do anything, still unsure what was going on. Where was Merlin? Shouldn’t Merlin be here? He hardly went any amount of time without his annoying presence, and now he didn’t seem to exist.

The fog was seeping back into his head. He needed to rest. He needed to figure out what was going on… when his head was clearer though, he couldn’t do it right now. He could hardly think. 

* * *

 

He was at training now. If sitting in his chair, unable to have control over his body was weird, training was even more so. He could feel the sudden movements, his swift spinning from foot to foot, sword nimbly moving through the air. It was bizarre to watch as an outsider, because everything about fighting was now so instinctive for him. Being able to see it from a distance, he could tell exactly what he was doing. And – like he would, one of his knights – he began to criticise what he was doing. Not that it was any use, he couldn’t change them.

There was something else that was unsettling him. The eyes of his knights… The way that some of them followed him. They were not expressions that Arthur ever wished to see from his men. There was something wary in their eyes, condemnatory… _why?_ What had he done? He could have done anything. He had no memory, no control… his body seemed to do things that he wouldn’t otherwise wish to do. What had he done to cause those looks? He wished he knew. He wished that he could _ask._

There was nothing that he could do. And that is what killed him. The utter hopelessness that encapsulated him. If he could do something, if he could fight it… He wouldn’t feel so trapped.

* * *

 

 “Sire, if I could have a word?”

 _Leon._ Seeing him was almost like a breath of fresh air. Leon, his most trusted the knight. He always had his back. “Of course, Sir Leon. What is it?” There was something in his own tone that made Arthur frown. It sounded unwelcoming.

Leon hovered in the doorway for a moment, before he moved further into the room. The hesitation concerned Arthur. What was going on? What was this about? “It’s about the magic law, Sire,” he said slowly. That concerned him even more. Why was _Leon_ talking to him about the magic laws? Leon had never done such a thing in the past. What had changed that made him feel as though he should.

“What about it?” his own tone was sharp, and he saw Leon tense.

“You’re estranging some of the older councillors,” Leon said carefully, and he was looking at a spot behind Arthur’s shoulder as he spoke. “I believe it would be in both your, and Camelot’s best interest, to take more care to convince them.”

 _What?_ Convince the older councillors about what? How was this relevant to the magic laws? There would be nothing about the magic laws that could upset the older councillors… unless… but no. That couldn’t be possible. _Tell me it isn’t possible._ But that thought, like many others, went completely unnoticed by Leon. 

“I am the king, Leon,” he returned. “They have to come around to my way of thinking.” 

He inwardly winced. That was tactless. If this was how he was speaking now… no wonder he was estranging the councillors, the knights. This was not the way to be a politician. He may be a king, but he also needed all of the support of his knights and his councillors to achieve things. He couldn’t do it all on his own.

“I know, Sire,” Leon said, tone calm. “But with such a change in the laws, and what they know, they may need some convincing.”

A change in the laws. A change in what they knew. The magic laws had been changed then. That acknowledgement stunned him to the core. His brain whirled desperately as he tried to make sense of it. His kingdom was being upturned, overtaken. He may still be the figurehead in front of it, but there was something else at play here.

He was trapped in his body, overtaken by some other force. A force that was changing his laws, his actions… ruining the people’s views on him. _Morgana?_ He wondered. But he wasn’t sure if it was quite her style. She didn’t just want the laws to change, she wanted to lead. She wanted Camelot as her own.

No, it couldn’t have been Morgana. But then, who?

Anyone. There must be countless magical enemies that he had yet to meet.

How was he meant to fight them? To let anyone else know that they had an enemy that needed to be defeated. His frustration heightened, and he realised he had lost track of the discussion in front of him. “That is all, Sir Leon.”

Leon bowed his head, and left. Arthur returned to his work.

He wanted to scream.

He was being used as a puppet, to corrupt his own kingdom. _Magic._ He had allowed magic. What exactly had he done? Was anyone with magic allowed within the borders of Camelot? The city was being opened up for a disaster… He needed to stop this. To get through it, before it was too late. 

* * *

 

His life was boring to watch. When he wasn’t doing his actions himself, it was not engaging. When added to the fact that he kept making actions and decisions that he opposed, it was endlessly frustrating. He wanted to scream constantly. He couldn’t.

Merlin entered the room.

 _Maybe this will bring me some amusement._ He was carrying a bucket of water, which meant cleaning the floors, which hopefully meant some amusement at giving him crap for taking too long to clean them. Perhaps it would give him some relief at being trapped alone with his thoughts and his uncooperative body. 

Unfortunately, he turned his attention back to the work that was in front of him. If grain reports were boring usually, they were even more so when you weren’t the ones doing the work. With an inward sigh, he went to read over what exactly was in front of him – for the eighth time.

He was however pleased when he raised his head, and after a few moments started to drawl at him.

“You’ve never cleaned a floor in your _life._ Like you would have _any_ idea how long it takes, or the effort behind it.” Not a completely false statement, he hadn’t. But it wasn’t his job, he had other concerns on his plate. 

“The effort?” he snorted. “You’re wiping a brush up and down the floor, it couldn’t be that hard then.” 

“You try it then.”

He snorted again. “Not happening.”

“You try it then.”

He felt something twinge inside of him, a sudden flare, and he rose to his feet. _What. What are you doing?_ He was moving to pick up the brush. _What?_ Why was he doing that? What would make him – even spelled him… _Merlin._

No, it couldn’t be. That made no sense. Why would _Merlin?_ His servant. It couldn’t be. How could he…?

“Arthur, stop,” Merlin’s voice was soft. “Go back to your work.”

He felt himself move back to his desk. That had to confirm it. He was ordering him, and Arthur was listening. He could think of no reason as to why he would do that, unless it was Merlin who was the one controlling the strings.

And to do that. Merlin must have magic. 

He couldn’t have achieved this any other way. Magic was the only thing that made sense. That explained the strange feeling inside of him, as though there was something there that didn’t quite fit in. Focusing on that now, lead him straight to Merlin.

_He has magic._

There were too many thoughts fighting for attention. _He has magic. How did I not know? How could he not have told me? Why did he do this to me?_

The betrayal stung. It burrowed deep within his skin, tearing himself in half, caving his chest in on itself. He wanted to collapse. To let the grief wash over him. 

He had been betrayed before, by a collection of people that he had trusted, that had meant the world to him. It didn’t hurt any less each time. If anything, it became worse. It felt the way that Morgana’s had. Because it wasn’t just one blow. Agravaine had been one blow – in league with his sister. Guinevere had been one blow – in love with Lancelot.

But Morgana?

_She has magic. She’s my sister. She wants my throne._

Merlin?

_He has magic. He is destroying my kingdom. He is doing this to me._

Each of those realisations twisted his heart, and tore a chunk of it out. He did not think that he had much of it left to lose.

Merlin had left the room. His body had returned to its work. His mind fought desperately against the fog that was containing him. He was getting out of his mind. He was _not_ allowing Merlin to destroy him, to destroy Camelot. To burn everything, that he and his father had built, to the ground.

Even if it was impossible, he was getting his control of himself back.

* * *

He could push through this. He was going to do it. There had to be a way. He could feel the fog clouding at the edges of his thoughts, containing him.

He was lying in bed. It was nightfall, and the room was dark. Guinevere slept peacefully beside him. _I can do this._ If he could just move the slightest bit, make the smallest movement… His eyes were shutting. _Don’t you dare sleep,_ he snarled at himself _._

He’d been trying for hours, to make any sort of movement, but nothing was happening. But he couldn’t give up. No matter if he took fighting against it every single moment that his body was awake, he was going to beat it. He would not allow magic to defeat him.

* * *

Slowly he woke. Scrunching his face at the sudden brightness streaming into the room, he rubbed at his eyes. Then froze. “I can move.” His breath caught in his throat. He could talk. Hesitantly, he stretched out, revelling in the feeling as his bones cracked. Giving a relieved smile, he fell back onto the bed.

He was free.

Now he had to get to work. He got out of bed, careful as to not wake Guinevere sleeping beside him. He paused at the edge of the bed, looking at her sleeping form. They were married. She was his Queen. It had been what he wanted, even after he had banished her from Camelot, but the fact that he had not chosen to… that soured what should otherwise have been a happy thought.

Though why Merlin had chosen to do that was a mystery to him. What did that achieve? It made Guinevere happy. That was worth it. But what did Merlin achieve from that?

He began pacing his room, but got no further into deciding what he was going to do before the door opened, and Merlin stepped in. They locked eyes. Arthur lurched towards him, grabbing him by the shoulders and slamming him back into the door that he had just walked through.

Merlin’s eyes widened in surprise, wincing as he hit the wood. Over in the bed, Guinevere startled awake. “Arthur!” she exclaimed, staring at the men in bewilderment.

Arthur ignored her, instead pressing his forearm against Merlin’s throat, daring him to try and move. His anger had bubbled back to the surface, overflowing. He so desperately wanted to keep pushing his forearm against the other’s windpipe, but he refrained. Breathing heavily, he glared at Merlin. He wasn’t aware that he was shaking.

“Arthur,” Guinevere repeated, having gotten out of bed, and moved to his shoulder. As he turned his gaze to her, she startled backwards a little. “Arthur let him go.” Her tone was firm.

She meant well. He knew that she did. For all that she knew, he had just slowly been acting differently. But he knew better. “Guinevere,” he said, trying to keep his tone level. “I am going to need you to trust me.”

Her eyes flickered between Arthur and Merlin. “What is going on…?”

Merlin did not even try to fight against Arthur’s hold, leaning back against the door. Arthur had no idea how to even begin trying to explain this to her. Would she believe him? What if Merlin had gotten into her mind too? Her eyes were full of concern. “I promise I will explain everything.” He couldn’t right now though. He had to deal with Merlin first/ 

“Arthur…” Merlin startled.

Arthur snarled at him, and knocked him to the ground. He immediately went for his sword, and pinned him to the floor. “Don’t you dare,” his tone was cold, laced with a violent anger. Guinevere made a slight noise. Merlin froze.

Anger coursed within him. The last time he could picture feeling it so vividly was the moment before he ran Caerleon through. He couldn’t do this here. Not again. He had learnt his lesson.

Yet still he did not move his sword. He did not know if Merlin was going to try bewitch him again, and if he tried… then he would die. He was not undergoing all of this again.

“Guinevere,” Arthur said, but did not take his eyes off Merlin. He shouldn’t have taken his eyes off him before. He knew better than to take his eyes off an enemy. “I need you to go and get the first knight that you see.” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that she did not move. “ _Please._ ” He said. 

There must have been something in the urgency in his tone, before she moved to get her cloak, and then left the room. “Arthur…” Merlin tried again.

“Don’t you _dare_ use my name,” he snarled. “Not after what you did to me.” He wanted to be composed, collected. He wanted to be the kind of king that his father was when faced with his enemies. But his voice shook with his anger, and he couldn’t present the imposing image that he wanted to. 

“ _Please_ listen to me.”

“You trapped me. You humiliated me. You… _my kingdom-._ ” He was wordless. He did not know which offence that he wanted to address. Only that they all gathered together into a swell of rage.

“I can explain.”

He was not given the chance to. In that moment, Guinevere reappeared with Sir Bors and Sir Gaheris behind her. Entering the room, they paused, looking at Merlin on the floor. “Sire?” Sir Gaheris questioned, glancing sideways at his king, wariness in his eyes.

Arthur took a step back, allowing the point of his sword to move away from Merlin. “Arrest him.”

There was a pause as no one else in the room reacted. Until the two knights moved to grab Merlin off of the floor. Merlin made no movement to stop it, and he was quickly removed from the room.

Guinevere stepped towards the shaking Arthur, and gently pried the sword from his hand. She placed it on the table, and then came back to him, putting a hand on his arm. He tensed at the feeling, and she dropped her hand. “Arthur,” she said gently. “What’s going on?”

He slowly turned his head to look at her. Opening and shutting his mouth a few times, his anger transformed into exhaustion. That felt too much like the fog that had overwhelmed him and he fought against it. Reaching for Guinevere, for something stable and solid, and led her over to the bed. She squeezed his hand. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looked at her. “I don’t know how to explain…”

“Take your time,” she said softly.

He was so overwhelmingly grateful for her in that moment. Taking a few seconds to order his thoughts, he explained what had been going on. Once he had finished, he waited. The expression on her face was that of stunned disbelief.

“You’re sure?” she said finally.

“Yes.”

She nodded slowly, eyebrows pulling together. “Since the attack?”

He returned the nod, his fingers tightening against hers. He needed her to believe him. If she didn’t believe him… what hope did he have convincing anyone else. _You don’t have to convince them,_ his mind reminded him. _You are a king._ He forced that force out of his mind. It seemed too much like the stance he had taken when Merlin was in control of his mind.

“Arthur,” she said softly. “That’s been over a year.”

If he had been standing, his legs would have collapsed from underneath him. As it was, his stomach dropped, and his whole body was overcome with a sudden weakness. His vision spun black, and he leaned back onto the bed to wait for the feeling to pass. “Arthur,” Guinevere said suddenly, and when he opened his eyes again, she was kneeling over him.

“A year?” he said weakly. How had it been… how much of that had he been unaware of? What had happened to him that he didn’t know? The sickly feeling in his stomach tightened, and he closed his eyes again.

“Oh, Arthur…” she breathed.

“How could I have lost that much time?” he whispered. It didn’t feel as though it had been that long. Not to him. Not with the memories that he had while he had been locked in his mind.

“I don’t know…” she bit her lip looking at him. “Arthur, I’m so sorry.”

He closed his eyes again, so he didn’t have to see the expression in her eyes. The mixture of horror, and sympathy, and pity. Part of him wished he hadn’t told her, so that he didn’t have to face that. He was a king, a knight. One of the most respected and feared people in Albion. He did not know how to stand pity.

A sob caught in his throat and he brought his hands up to his face, breathing harshly into them. Guinevere reached out tentatively to put a hand on his shoulder. He tensed, and she dropped it quickly.

Emotions crashed over. The lingering anger at Merlin, and the betrayal, shock and horror at the length of time, the feelings of panic and entrapment that he had been unable to express while under the spell. He didn’t know what to feel. Everything collided into him.

He was left feeling flat, emotions having run their course until there was nothing else to feel. He looked blankly at Guinevere, who had stayed sitting beside him. Her expression was pained.

She said nothing.

He said nothing.

What else was there to say? To put into words the panicked hopelessness that he’d suffered. And _Merlin._ It had been Merlin. He should not have been surprised – how many times had he been betrayed by the people he loved? The people he would have sacrificed almost anything for. 

Merlin was his best friend. Merlin had done this. 

Betrayal did not get any easier, no matter how much he had suffered it.

Guinevere still looked pained. He reached over and squeezed her hand. Her eyes met his, and she gave what was meant to be a reassuring smile.

He felt flat.

* * *

When he gathered the energy to do it, Arthur made his way down to the cells. The only benefit to his loss of energy was that perhaps he didn’t have enough of it to run Merlin through. 

He thought he could trust Merlin. But then… hadn’t he thought he could trust everyone else too? Morgana had been like family to him – _was_ family to him. He had known her his whole life, and would never have expected…

And Merlin. Merlin who he had trusted more than anyone else.

Over a year. Merlin had trapped him for over a year.

He felt sick.

Reaching the cells, he found Merlin sitting on the floor in one of them, looking up at him. Upon seeing him, anger rose in his gut again, fighting the exhaustion. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t have you executed for treason.” He should have him executed. There had been so many broken laws that demanded death as the punishment.

“I did it in your best interest,” Merlin returned, and his tone was calm.

“My best interest?” Arthur demanded, his tone full of a cold anger. His lip curled in satisfaction as it made Merlin tense. _Don’t you dare be calm with me._

“You were injured at the battle, it was the only way to get you out alive.”

The battle. That was the last thing he could remember. Agravain and Morgana coming through with their army. Guinevere had filled the gaps for him after that, of how he had ended up in Ealdor, and returned to fight for Camelot. Even though the actions had not been his, they filled him with shame. _Coward._ Running had saved his life but at what expense? What of his people that had been left behind under Morgana? “So you made me abandon my country in its time of need. 

“So you’d live! So you could return to win it back!”

Arthur looked at him for a long moment. “I would rather have died.” The statement hung in the air. Merlin stared at him, lost for words. 

And it was true. Arthur had never been afraid of death. It had followed him since he was a child, since he had first grasped a sword in his hand. There were worse things than death. “Do you not understand anything about me? How dare you claim that this was for my benefit when you chose actions went against who I am?” _When your actions robbed me of my autonomy, of my choice. Trapped me in myself for a year._

But that was not what he was protesting right now. He was not arguing for himself. “I would never leave Camelot to Morgana, not even for a moment. Not to save myself. I would _never_ abandon my people.” That was his duty. That was why he was king. To protect them. Then to abandon them to save his own life? That was not the actions of the king he wished to be.

They had not been his actions. But they stained him now. As did all the actions that had come after. He thought of the wariness in the eyes of his knights in the pieces that he had been able to see. He thought of Leon’s comment of the councillors that he was ostracising. _The magic laws._ His tone was cold and harsh as he continued. “I would rather have died than be a puppet king, putting through decrees for _your_ benefit.” He had not been an empty shell. He had been there. He had lived it. At least some. Who knew what had happened in the bits that he hadn’t.

“I was protecting you,” he said softly.

“ _No._ You cannot make that claim when you _know_ that the things you made me do go against what I believe.” The magic laws. The people he had spent his life trying to protect his kingdom from. “You were using me. Don’t you _dare_ try justify that.”

“You are not the only one trying to protect people, Arthur.” He laughed harshly, but Merlin continued to look at him. “You say you would do anything to protect your people, do those with magic not count? 

“Magic is outlawed in Camelot.”

 “Not anymore.”

If there hadn’t been cell bars separating them, Arthur might have hit him. As it was, his hand curled into a fist by his side, and he took in a sharp breath. The protests of protecting him fell faint against that. He had been used to restore magic to Camelot, something he had fought against since a child. His skin crawled.

No longer wanting to be standing before the other man, Arthur turned abruptly, heading out. “What are you going to do to me?” Merlin called after him, but he did not respond.

He did not know. 

He couldn’t decide that while standing at the cells looking at Merlin.

He knew what he should do, he knew what the laws decreed that he should do. The extent of the treason that Merlin had committed… a part of him wanted the justice for the actions that Merlin had done. The swelling rage within him wanted Merlin to pay for his crimes.

But… it was Merlin. He couldn’t kill his best friend. Even if he no longer deserved that title.

And he knew that if it was Morgana standing before him, Morgana with all of her attacks against Camelot, and all of her crimes, he wouldn’t have done it.

Perhaps that made him a weak king. How could he ever hope to achieve anything if he allowed people to get away with those actions… how would his people ever respect him?

His father never would have. His father with his no tolerance policy for magic. He knew what he had been doing, he knew the harm that magic could cause. Arthur wished that his father was here, that he could pass this burden on his shoulders back to him. He didn’t want this weight of the world.

There was more than just what to do with Merlin. He also needed to find out what he had missed in the past year. He needed to rectify the damage that had been caused, undo the changes that had been made.

But could he?

He couldn’t just flip the magic laws back on their head. He would look inconsistent, he would look as though he was just bowing to the disapproval of his councillors, to the protests against the change. But could he leave them as they were? With how they seated so opposed to his own views. He didn’t want to be the type of king that held laws that he was against.

He didn’t want to let the danger of magic into his kingdom.

Merlin had gotten him there. He could probably have guessed that Arthur would struggle to fix this without damaging things even further. He cursed under his breath, pulling himself back in before he slammed his fist into a wall. Pain shot through his hand.

He was not okay with magic. Especially not after what he had experienced this past year. He did not want it in his kingdom, he did not want the risk of this happening again. Not to him, or to anybody else.

He could claim that it had been magic that had made him change the laws, but that would only work if he was charging Merlin with what he had done. Which would mean executing him. And that brought him right back to the conflict of what he was going to do with Merlin.

Shouldn’t he hate him? Shouldn’t he want him dead for what had happened?

These thoughts that he had struggled with before over Morgana. It wasn’t quite so easy to hate the people you loved – no matter what they had done to you. 

* * *

 

He sought out Leon.

The man tensed when Arthur entered the room, pausing from where he was writing something. “Sire,” he said, getting to his feet. Arthur said nothing for a moment, watching him sadly.

“Leon,” he said, still in the doorway. “Would I be able to speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course, sire.”

Stepping into the room, Arthur closed the door behind him. “I need to know that what we discuss now will not go past this room.” He did not think that Leon was the type to do so, but wanted to stress the importance of it. He could trust Guinevere and Leon with this information, but for now, he did not feel as though it could go any further. Leon would have a different perspective on the issue to Guinevere, as he would be able to look at it from his position as a knight.

Leon frowned at him, but nodded. “I promise that it won’t.”

Arthur believed that promise, and he came to sit down at one of the chairs in the room. Leon moved around so that he was sitting across from him. Very slightly he tilted his head, giving the signal to Arthur to speak. He did not start right away, but took another few seconds to gather his thoughts, and staring straight across at his first knight, he explained what had been happening.

Leon listened silently, growing horror on his face, and it was only when Arthur had been silent for some moments, that he chose to speak. “That’s…” he struggled to find the word that he wanted.

“I know,” Arthur said softly.

Leon grimaced. “Are you okay?”

Arthur blinked, looking up at his knight. The man looked back at him, expression concerned. “I am,” he said firmly. It earned him a doubtful look, and he had a striking memory of being a boy and nursing a sprained wrist while telling Leon that he was perfectly okay. “I do not want to speak about myself, Leon. I am here to speak about the kingdom.”

Leon let it go. “It… explains a lot,” he said slowly. At Arthur’s frown, he elaborated. “Your actions have been…odd. I thought perhaps it was the stress of ruling, of trying to find your place as king, especially after Morgana destabilised it…”

“I do have a memory of you trying to speak to me about it.”

Leon grimaced. “The nobles are highly displeased. It may take some work to convince them back onto your side. Even once told what has happened, they may be hard to pacify.”

He bit his lip.

“What if I don’t want to tell others what happened?”

His eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed into a frown. Carefully, he spoke. “Then what do you intend to do?”

“I’m not sure,” Arthur admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can kill him. Even if I know that I should. And if this spreads to anyone else… that will be what I am required to do.”

“I know he was close to you, Arthur,” he said tentatively. “But you can’t let him…” he trailed off, unsure of how to continue. “What if he tries again?" 

“I know he can’t go unpunished,” he said. “And I know if it had been any other sorcerer I wouldn’t hesitate, but…”

“The people we know mean more than the nameless.” Leon understood.

 _He’s my best friend._ He didn’t said it, but it was still true. How do you resolve that the person you trusted the most did something like that to you? 

He didn’t know. He hadn’t figured it out with Morgana, he couldn’t here. What would he have done if they had caught Morgana? Even with what she had caused, sometimes he was glad that they hadn’t. That was not a choice he was ready to make.

But it was one that he had to make here.

“I may banish him.” It got him out of Camelot. It meant he didn’t have to kill him.

“Like you did with Guinevere.” There was an implied comment that Guinevere had returned to Camelot.

“I didn’t choose that. I was under the spell when I forgave her.”

“Is she to stay?”

“Yes,” the answer was automatic, and he knew that it was the right one. Politically it was also the right move, he couldn’t thrust her aside only a year into their marriage. It would look poor on his behalf. But also… he couldn’t bear to lose her. Not with everyone and everything else that he had lost.

Leon did not question his decision, instead just nodding his head. “As long as you can ensure that he won’t be able to harm you or Camelot again,” he said firmly, his tone grave. “That is the most important thing here, Arthur.”

“I will make sure of it,” he promised. He paused for a moment. “I still can’t let the councillors know however. I know they saw me as weak for being so mild against Guinevere, this would only heighten it. I don’t believe it would help their view of me, even if they knew that these actions of the past months were not my own doing.”

“That is true,” he acknowledged. “Although you are going to have to work quickly to amend the rift that Merlin has caused. Even some of the younger knights hold little sympathy to you. As a cohort, we feel as though you have not been listening,” he grimaced.

“Understandable,” he said grimly. “I will do what I can to rectify this.” If he held a council meeting, and allowed the councillors to voice their concerns and try and address them… perhaps if he took some of the younger knights from training, he may be able to rebuild some of their confidence in him through that. He looked troubled.

“I’m sure that you can manage,” he said firmly. “You’ve won us all over before,” his tone was fond. 

“Thank you, Leon,” he smiled.

“And I would argue that you were more of a prat then.” Arthur rolled his eyes, but gave a small genuine smile. He could always rely on Leon.

Paranoia followed that thought immediately. What if he couldn’t? He had been wrong in trusting Morgana, he had been wrong in trusting Merlin. What if this was another moment of misplaced trust. Leon frowned as Arthur’s expression suddenly turned grave. Maybe he was wrong to trust people – perhaps he should have kept this information to himself.

* * *

 

He had not been expecting Gaius to come and speak with him. Though perhaps seeing as he had thrown the person like a son to him, into the dungeons, he should have been expecting it. “Gaius,” he greeted.

“Sire.”

“Is this about Merlin?”

A pause.

“Yes.”

Arthur waved his hand, a signal for Gaius to say what it was that he came to say. When Gaius did not start to speak, he instead asked his own question. “Did you know?” his tone was calm, but there was an unpleasant undercurrent. He could see Gaius tense. So Gaius knew what he was talking about, Gaius knew why he had arrested Merlin.

“I did not know, but I did think there was something amiss. 

“And you did not try to stop it?”

“I tried to speak with Merlin. It did not achieve a lot.”

He eyed the physician. “You knew of his magic.” It was clearly not a question, and Gaius simply nodded. “For how long?”

“Since the moment he came to Camelot." 

The moment he had… the idea of having magic was still hazy to him. He couldn’t place when Morgana must have learnt her magic, she surely hadn’t had it her whole life, that was absurd… but Merlin had his the whole time Arthur had known him? That thought was… incomprehensible.

He thought of everything that had happened in the years since he had met Merlin, of everything that they had been through, and all of the attacks and dangers that Camelot had faced. It felt like puzzle pieces slowly putting themselves together, as everything neatly slotted into place. All of the weird coincidences… all of the lucky escapes… they hadn’t just been chance, had they? They had been Merlin.

How had he never…

Arthur put his head into his hands. It felt like it was spinning again. How could he have severely misjudged… well, he had done it before, hadn’t he? He had not known what Morgana had been capable of until it had been thrown into his face. Why didn’t he see it? Why did it come like a blow to the gut each and every time?

“I can say with full honesty, Sire,” Gaius said. Arthur could hear him take a couple of steps closer. “That everything he has done, has been with you in mind.”

“With me in mind?” Arthur demanded, raising his head to look at him. He saw Gaius take a tiny step back. “Taking control of me was done with _me in mind?_ ” His voice raised, and the man before him wavered. “Please leave.” There was no movement. “ _Leave._ ” The tone of authority rang loudly in the room, and he finally left.

As the door closed behind him, Arthur dropped his head into his hands, and let out a quiet sob.

 _Merlin has magic._ That alone was a blow to the gut. First Morgana… how many people around him, were hiding magic? Was there any more? Guinevere, or Leon, or… could he trust any of them not to be hiding magic from him? Could he trust any of them not to try to harm him or Camelot?

He never would have thought that Morgana could have done that. This was her _home._ They were practically family – they _were_ family. The betrayal still ached in his chest, welling up to an incomprehensible pain.

And then Merlin… The first person he felt like he could truly trust. The first person he had honestly completely seen as a friend. Morgana was family, and Leon, as much as he liked him, was a knight. He hadn’t become quite the friend until later. Merlin had been one of the few people that Arthur had thought put him first, before his role as a prince, or a king. He was just simply Arthur.

He sobbed. It hurt. All of the betrayals piled up on top of each other, and he could barely breathe for the pain of it all. He wanted to go lie down in bed, but even the thought of moving was too much energy for him. His limbs felt heavy, his brain foggy. Instead of moving, he just laid his head down on the desk, feeling his breath rise and fall in his chest.

Some hours later, when Guinevere returned to the room, he was still sitting slumped over the desk. “Arthur,” she said softly, moving over towards him. He raised his head a little bit, but did not sit up. He didn’t want to feel anything. Not feeling would be easier than this mess of pain sitting within his gut. _I don’t want to exist._

“Come on,” her voice was gentle, and she slowly got him to stand up, and move over to the bed. In that moment, he was inexplicably grateful for her. For her softness, and her compassion.

But hadn’t she broken his heart too? And he’d he’d forgiven her – was in the process of forgiving her. But that had been different, in its way. Although still dubbed as treason, Guinevere hadn’t been seeking to ruin Camelot. Morgana had. Merlin had.

Could he forgive them – him (this was not about Morgana right now) - for what he had done both against him, and against Camelot? He wasn’t sure if he could. Wouldn’t that show that he was putting his friends, and his thoughts, before the law? That he was picking and choosing his laws? Did he want to be that type of king. 

Did he want to forgive him? Ignoring the laws, ignoring the consequences. Did he want to forgive the person who had caused him this grief? He didn’t think he did.

* * *

 

The distrustful eyes followed him as he moved to stand in front of his knights. The sight of it made Arthur’s gut clench. Here was his people. Those sworn to follow and protect him. And these were the eyes of people who were not sure that they wanted to. He took a deep breath, and caught Leon’s eyes in the crowd. He gave him a nod. _Okay, Arthur, you can do this._  

He’d won their allegiance before, he could win it back.

“I thought that we would do a friendly competition today,” Arthur said. “A small tournament, if you will.” He felt as though that would work better than standing up at the front, and asking his men to run through moves with him. “However we will have a couple of rounds going at once. If you lose, you are out. However I require you to stay at training, and either watch, or practice with the others who lost their spars. Understood?”

They were murmurs of agreement, and Arthur moved through his men splitting them into groups. He was itching to take part himself, but felt as though he would be better suited moving through and offering advice. His ability as a warrior as not in doubt, it was his relationship with them.

What damage had this last year brought…

Watching them fight, Arthur was really proud of them. They fought really well, they had clearly learnt a lot.

_A young teenager, at training amongst knights who most of which were at least twice his age. Sir Ector was running a tournament, and his father stood beside him. He had not been there when this fight had started._

_Arthur caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye, and stalled for a second. A sword came towards him. He threw himself out of the way, re-caught his footing, and tried to throw his attention back into fight, ignoring his father standing there._

_A few minutes later, the opponent was in the grass, Arthur’s sword pressed lightly against their chest._

_He felt elated, victorious. His training was beginning to pay off. The constant hours on the field, the tiredness and the pain. He could beat people who had been knights before he had even been born._

_His eyes flickered to his father, but just saw his back as he began to walk away._

His father’s approval had meant a great deal to him, and it had been difficult to get. These circumstances were different, but his men deserved to hear that he was proud of them. 

In the final of the small competition that he had created, Arthur moved to the centre to announce the fight. “Although only two of you are in this fight,” his eyes drifted to the two of them, Gwaine and Leon, their expressions full of mirth. “You all have fought incredibly today. Camelot has a reputation for having the best knights in Albion, and watching you all, I do not doubt that. I am proud of each and every one of you, and I am grateful for the allegiance you have given Camelot,” he paused for a moment, and then stepped back so he was no longer quite so close to the last two knights. “When you’re ready,” he told them.

Both kept their eyes on Arthur for a moment longer, before turning their attention to each other. Slowly, the rest of his knights’ gazes, did the same.

* * *

He was sitting on his throne.

It was dark.

He was alone.

He could not move.

Try as he might, his body would not listen to his desire to move. No matter how much he told his legs to stand up, they would not listen to him, not even a twitch of his toe. _No, no, no._ He thought desperately. This couldn’t be happening again, this couldn’t – he couldn’t… _no._

He awoke, gasping for breath.

“Arthur?” A hand reached out, squeezing his arm gently. 

Flinching violently, Arthur jerked away from her. The action was blissful, as his body followed what he wished would happen. In the moonlit room, he saw Guinevere’s face crumble. The touch had been too much after the dream. All the memories washing back over him about how helpless that he had felt, and with it came the reminder that he himself had not chosen to forgive Guinevere.

“Please don’t touch me,” he said softly, swinging out of bed. With every step that he took, the more reassured he felt. He could see her eyes following him each time he paced towards her.

 _I am here. I am moving. This is me._ He took a deep breath with every step, feeling the swing of his arms in the air, the quiet thump as his feet touched the ground.

Finally he came to a stop and looked across the darkened room at Guinevere. “Arthur,” her voice was soft.

“Hi,” he returned, his own voice barely a whisper. Slowly he crossed back over to her, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He saw her hand reach out to take hold of his shoulder, but it paused midway and then dropped into her lap. “It’s okay.”

She looked at him, eyes hesitant, and he stared back for a moment before holding his hand out to her. “It’s okay,” he repeated.

She took hold of his hand and squeezed it, before entwining her fingers in his. “Are you okay?”

“I will be.” The memory of the feeling made his skin crawl, and bile rose in his throat. To think that it had been Merlin who had done this… who seemed to have such powerful magic and was sitting in his cells. Would they hold him? Were his people safe? Was he safe? He had to do something. He had to protect his people.

And admittedly? He wanted to do something. It was the same sadness and rage that had risen in him when he had seen Guinevere kissing Lancelot. A sharp pain that rose from his chest to his head and his hands that urged him to do something, to punish Merlin, to force him far away from him. So he wouldn’t have to look at or deal with him. To return some of the pain that was overwhelming him.

He didn’t want to think about that now. He didn’t want to have to deal with it. He didn’t want to exist. His breathing turned ragged, and Guinevere moved closer, so that she could wrap her arms around him. He leaned into her, trying to calm his breathing before it turned into sobs.

* * *

How had his father done it? How had he ruled this kingdom for almost twenty five years and not cracked under the strain. How had he kept his grip on it for that long? Arthur had only been king for less than two years – less than one in his own memory, and he could already feel it slipping. 

Many of the consequences were Merlin’s fault, but that did not mean that they were not his consequences to bear. “You have time,” Guinevere said softly, her arm in his as they walked towards the council chamber, having voiced his concerns for what he would face. How did he fix relationships that seemed irreparably harmed by what had happened? “It’s only been two days, Arthur. I have faith in you.”

That made one of them.

Gwaine was frowning at him as he entered the throne room. So were some of the others, but Gwaine was the one that stuck with him. Because he had a feeling Gwaine’s frown was not about him, but was about the fact that Merlin was still sitting in the cells. And no one knew why.

He turned his gaze from his knight, and instead scanned the others in the room. Most of them were councillors, loyal from his father’s time. They were going to be harder to appease. 

Leon had said that it would have been easier if he admitted to what Merlin had done. But Arthur did not want to. For more reasons than just he would be forced to execute him if he did. He did not want to get up in front of his people, and admit for the past year that someone had held control over him. 

He would be seen as weak. He could not risk that.

Sitting beside him, Guinevere squeezed his hand. He looked at her and smiled faintly, she returned it.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his attention back to his people. This was going to be hard. “I am aware that I have not been listening to you lately,” he said. He kept his tone calm, level. Tried not to make his anxiety show through. The words earned him some puzzled frowns. “And I would like to apologise for that.” Sure, the actions of the past year had not been his own. But the ones before had. And if everyone had been pretty convinced that it had been him this past year, there must have been some foundation for it.

“Adjusting to becoming king was a difficult time, and I, wrongfully, believed that I had to do it by myself,” he swallowed. “I was wrong. I forgot to take heed of the brilliant council that you all give me, and I am sorry for that. As we move on, I will make sure to listen to your advice more soundly.” The gazes in the room watched him intently, and Arthur turned his gaze to Leon.  “Sir Leon, if you could give a report on the border patrols?”

Leon nodded, rustling his papers.

Letting out a breath, Arthur relaxed slightly in his chair.

There was still so much to do, but it was a start.

* * *

This would have been easier if he wasn’t a king. If the choice was whether he wanted to be around Merlin or not. But that was not the choice that he had to make. Merlin’s life now rested with his decision. It was not the first, and it would be nowhere near the last time that someone’s life rested in his hands. That did not make it easier. That did not mean that he knew what to do with his best friend – former best friend? What was the terminology now. 

He could not get Gaius’ words out of his mind. His comment that what Merlin had done had been with him in mind. Merlin’s own comment that he was protecting him.

Had he been protecting him? Even if he had failed, if he’d gone about it the wrong way, was that what he had been trying to do? Did that intention cancel it out? Did trying to look after him make it okay?

But he had done things that he knew Arthur was against. He had changed laws.

He could understand why. It wasn’t surprising that a magical person would take the opportunity to help other magical people.

Maybe he was just overreacting. Making more of a deal over this than he should have been.

 _What he did was treason._ It was more than just actions against him. What Merlin had done had threatened his country. That was more important than him. That was always more important than him. 

 _I’m going to banish him._ Saying it to himself was step one. Saying it to someone else was step two. But he knew he did not want Merlin in his country. For himself, and for Camelot. It was the best course of action.

Guinevere returned from an outing with one of the ladies of the court. Her hair a little windswept, and with a faint smile on her face. Arthur smiled fondly. “Did you have a nice day?” he asked her, noting how she held one of her hands behind her back.

“I did,” she said, coming over to kiss his cheek. And then offered him a flower that had been hiding behind her back. “I got you this." 

He took the flower, and then looked up at her. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

She smiled at him. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Guinevere.” He looked down at the flower in his hand, and frowned. He had banished Guinevere for breaking his heart. That had seemed like the right decision to make at the time that he had made it. But he was glad that she was here now. He wasn’t sure he could do this without her here now.

Was he going to feel the same way about Merlin?

“Now, you’re not meant to frown at the presents people give you,” Guinevere said lightly, but when he looked back up at her, she looked worried.

“I’m not frowning at the present. I love it.”

“Then what are you frowning at?” He shook his head. “Arthur…" 

“What if I make a mistake, in punishing Merlin?” he asked, turning the flower in his fingers and not looking at her. “The same way that I regretted banishing you.” He regretted it once she was gone. Once the pain of her actions faded, and were overtaken by that grief of loss.

“Arthur,” she said softly, and put a hand on his shoulder.

He looked up at her, and her expression was pained. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he said, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have brought that up.” What was bringing up old grievances going to fix here? When he had enough new grievances to muddle his way through.

“It’s the truth,” she said quietly. “And sometimes the truth hurts.”

“Usually,” he muttered, placing the flower down onto his desk.

There was a couple of moments of quiet. “You want to banish him?" 

“I do.” Arthur tried to read her expression. Merlin was her friend too. “You disagree." 

She said nothing at first, letting go of his shoulder, and going to pull a chair around so that she could sit beside him. Nervousness rose in him as he watched her. How was this going to go? He waited for her to speak. “You’re allowed to not want the people that hurt you around you. In fact, sometimes that’s the sensible option.”

“But?” he prompted.

“But you’re in the position where you can enforce that. As a king, you can make sure that those people are no longer around you.”

“So I shouldn’t do it?”

“I didn’t say that. I just think it is something that should be kept in mind.”

He frowned. Why was this so endlessly complicated. “What would you do?” he asked her. “If you were me?”

Guinevere frowned. “It’s not the same,” she said slowly. “But… the friendship I had with Morgana is a bit like yours and Merlin’s. Except the positions are flipped a little bit…” They were in different positions in the dynamic. “I loved her. She was the closest person to me. And for…” her words got a little unsteady. “For years she was the person I had the most trust in.”

Arthur grimaced. Those were feelings that he knew all too well. About Merlin, but about Morgana too. His sister had been an incredibly important person to him. “So what would you do if it was Morgana?” he asked. “If you had to make this choice about Morgana?”

“I better not,” she said, tone suddenly fierce. “Because that means something happened to you.” Their eyes met, and he could see her fear that a situation like that would come to pass. “I wouldn’t want Morgana in Camelot. She has proven herself too much of a risk to this country.”

“Do you think Merlin is a risk to this country?”

She looked at him. “Do you?”

“He committed treason.”

“I committed treason,” she reminded him, and they both grimaced.

“He used magic.”

“Which is currently legal,” she pointed out.

“Because he made it so!” His using magic was not suddenly okay because he had used that magic to decriminalise magic in Camelot. That was not how this worked. 

“Are you going to change that?”

“That’s not the discussion I want to have right now,” he said tiredly. What he was going to do with the magic laws was a whole other issue that he did not know how to deal with.

She nodded, and frowned, twisting her fingers together. “I think… I think you need to assess whether he is a danger to Camelot-“

“He had control of me.”

“A danger to Camelot, Arthur. Not to yourself.” _I am Camelot._ If you controlled him, you controlled Camelot. But he didn’t say it. He held his tongue and let her finish what it was that she was trying to say. “If he is going to be a danger to our people, then he should be banished from Camelot. But… speaking from experience,” she wasn’t looking at him here. “Banishment for a personal harm is… harsh." 

“So if he isn’t a danger to this country, I should let him stay.” If he had not banished her for kissing Lancelot, would she have the same view that she had now?

“Perhaps,” she said tentatively. “But letting him stay in the country, or the city, does not mean letting him stay in your life.”

He blinked at her.

“Always a man of extremes, aren’t you?” she asked, fondness creeping into her tone, before being replaced by the one of seriousness. “He hurt you. A lot. And you don’t have to forgive him for that. Whatever you do or don’t decide lawfully, doesn’t mean your person choices have to line up with that. You want to banish him, because you don’t want him near you, don’t you? Not because of the law?”

He looked away, and that was answer enough. If he was following the law, Merlin would have been executed. Guinevere likely would have been executed. The decision to banish was one made because he wanted the person who had caused him grief away from him.

“You can remove him from your life whatever you decide, Arthur. If you don’t want him near you, you don’t want him near you. Lawful restrictions or not, that’s your choice.”

He blinked again.

Guinevere was quiet for a few moments, watching him. “You are more than just your crown, love,” she said gently, talking hold of his hand. “You’re allowed to take it off and just be Arthur. You’re allowed to do and be things without the mark of a king, without the weight of this kingdom." 

But he was the king. And before that he had been a prince. His actions had always been tied into that, no matter what they were. His father had always reminded him of that. He was always representing their country. He was always royalty. He always had the weight of Camelot residing on his decisions. His own personal decisions had never been important.

* * *

 

He had to talk to Merlin. He didn’t want to. But he had to. He still wanted to just banish him. To condemn him for what he had caused Arthur. But the pain in Guinevere’s face made him hesitate. Whether that was pain for Merlin or for her own memories, he didn’t know. He didn’t want to know, because he didn’t want it to be for Merlin. 

The occupants of the castle were wondering exactly what Merlin had done to be thrown into the dungeons yet again, Arthur knew. No one had asked him directly – which quite frankly surprised him. He would have expected Gwaine to come yelling in his face about it, forgetting as always that he was speaking to a king. Perhaps Leon had spoken to him. Though what Leon could have said without speaking the truth was a mystery, and Leon was not one to break his word. 

This time, however, he was not going to the cells. He was having this conversation where it should be had.

He asked Leon to escort Merlin – despite the location, he still did not want eavesdroppers to the conversation. Leon knew what had happened, and he trusted Leon without a doubt. 

 _You shouldn’t,_ came a sudden thought.

 _Leon has done nothing wrong,_ he rationalised. 

 _Yet._  

Hadn’t experience shown him that trusting people was the wrong move?

Morgana, Agravaine, Merlin. Guinevere – to an extent. How long until he added Leon to that list? The man who had said he would ride into the mouth of hell for him?

Sitting on his throne, his crown atop his head, he waited. Despite Guinevere’s comments that he needn’t always be a king, this was still a matter of security. He had not yet deemed Merlin not a threat.

The door opened, Leon and Merlin entered. With an expression of severity Arthur had inherited from his father, he looked at Merlin. The man looked tired. He regretted bringing him there almost immediately. Seeing him before him brought the anger to the front. But it also brought pain; betrayal, but also the memory of hopelessness, of being stuck.

For a moment, the two of them looked at each other, and Arthur wanted to banish him. He wanted to hurt him.

He wanted to cry.

He took a deep breath.

And another.

He was exhausted.

“What were your plans for Camelot?” he put the mask back in place. He had to be a king. He had to ensure his people were safe. His own grief and anger could come later.

“I had none.”

“You had control of a king, and you had no plans? You’ve already proven that false. You changed a law, what else where you going to do?”

“ _Nothing._ ” Arthur looked at him. “I… I changed the magic laws to help people. To help magical people… I thought – I hoped – that when you became king, for all that you talked of justice, you’d change them. You were meant to change them…” 

“Meant to?” he questioned, ignoring the comment about his justness. He did strive for justice, it had propelled a lot of actions. He did not appreciate the quip here.

“I…” he floundered a moment. “You were meant to bring magic back into Camelot, to unite Albion, to lead a golden age… and then… you haven’t.”

He didn’t respond at first. That was a lot of information. Information he didn’t know how to deal with. Unite Albion? Lead a golden age? Magic? Two things he wanted desperately, and one that he didn’t want in his kingdom. “What?”

Merlin shrugged. “It was your destiny. But you didn’t do it.” Destiny? Arthur was not sure that he was one to believe in destiny. No matter how he craved for it to be true, to be the one that would unite Albion, to create a golden age. “I have been in Camelot for _years._ I’ve spent years hiding my magic, protecting you, protecting this country. To watch people like me get continuously murdered. I never sought out to do it, but the opportunity was there… I was just trying to protect people.”

Arthur looked at him uncertainly. The desire to protect was something which he could understand. If Merlin had wanted to do more, if he had wanted to change more, he could have done it. He had been in the position to do it. But he hadn’t. So what did that mean. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Merlin continued.

Arthur faltered. He wasn’t sure that that made it better. Morgana had caused him a great deal of grief but she had intended to. But this? This pain and exhaustion and every other turbulent emotion had been unintended. It wasn’t necessary. He didn’t need to feel like this. “You still did.”

“I tried everything to take the spell off once you were out of harm’s way. _Nothing worked."_

“You still cast the spell.”

“I am not apologising for my magic.”

Arthur looked at him for a moment. “This isn’t about your magic, Merlin. Or at least not entirely.” He couldn’t ignore that the magic did have some part to it, his feelings towards magic were entwined with all of this. “You do not apologise for your magic, but do you apologise for what your magic did? Do you regret doing it?”

“It saved your life." 

“That’s a no then.”

 “I would rather you be alive.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, his hand curling into a fist, and took a deep breath. “The thing, Merlin,” he said, his words hard. “Is the outcome of my life does not depend on what you would rather. That was my choice. It was not your place to take that from me.” 

He shook his head. “I have to protect you.”

“You failed.” He did not feel protected. He did not feel safe. He felt tired, he felt used, he felt sick. 

Merlin was quiet.

Everything felt heavy. He didn’t want to be here. He wasn’t sure where he wanted to be that would be better. But he knew that it wasn’t here – he didn’t want to be here. Shoulders slumping, he put his head into his hands. No longer the image of the stern king he was trying to be.

He should be better than this. He had been raised to be better than this. _Pendragons are not weak._ Hopefully his father could not see him now. What would he say? Knowing that magic had held him in its grip for a year. Knowing the exhaustion that held him now. 

His father would have executed Merlin. _Gaius has magic._ His father didn’t execute Gaius. But Gaius didn’t use his magic against them. 

Why wasn’t this simple?

Why couldn’t any of this just be simple?

Hearing footsteps, he raised his head to see Leon leading Merlin back out of the room. Thank the gods for Leon.

* * *

The sun was setting. Sword in hand, Arthur was on the training field. Going drill through drill. He ached. He still felt heavy. But he was moving. He was controlling his moving. And that made him feel better, even if just a little bit.

He wasn't a stranger to this pain. A lot of his life had been spent on this field. A lot of his childhood had been spent with with a sword in his hands, training until he couldn't keep going and doing it anyway. 

 _"I'm_ tired _." Everything ached. He had discarded his sword into the grass, and flopped down beside it. The thought of getting up, of having to move made him want to cry._

_"Your highness, the king said you need to perfect this drill before supper," Sir Ector's voice was wary, as though he too was weary of this._

_"It's past supper," the child muttered. The sun was beginning to set._

_"Nevertheless..."_

_Nevertheless his father would test him, and he needed to be able to do it when he did. Scrunching his face, and trying to ignore the pain, he rose._

“Arthur.” 

Spinning his sword in his hand, he paused, and turned to face Guinevere on the edge of the field, her cloak pulled tight around her to block out the wind. “Hi,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for you. I haven’t seen you all day, I was worried.”

He tensed. “I can look after myself,” he said tersely, causing her to frown. Apparently no one seemed to think so.

“I know you can, I just…”

“You just thought that wasn’t important.” It didn’t matter if he could protect himself or not. Because everyone else seemed to have an idea about protecting him instead.

She blinked at him. “Arthur that’s not what-“

“I don’t need your help,” he said sharply, and she flinched a little at his tone.

“I…” she started, tone faltering. She looked away from him, hand curling into her cloak.

A pang of guilt hit him, and he stepped towards her. “Guinevere,” he said softly. She looked up at him, lips pressed together in the way she did when she was trying to stop them wobbling. “Let’s go inside.”

She nodded and offered her hand. 

He looked at it for a moment. “Not right now,” he said quietly.

Her face crumpled, but she nodded again, and silently they headed inside. Neither of them said anything until they were back in their room, and Guinevere standing in front of a mirror, fiddling with the ties on her dress. “Here,” he said softly, stepping towards her. “Let me.”

She dropped her hands from the ties. “I’m sorry for snapping,” he said, working on them. Why were dresses so confusing? There was too many ties on this. 

“I know you can look after yourself, Arthur,” she said, and he glanced up to catch her eyes in the mirror. “It isn’t your physical safety that I’m worried about.”

He dropped his gaze. _Pendragons are not weak._ “I’m fine,” he said, even though they both knew that he was anything but.

“You don’t _have_ to be fine.”

_Sniffling, and holding his arm into his chest, he walked alongside his father to the physician's quarters. "Don't cry, Arthur. You aren't a baby."_

_"It hurts," the child said petulantly. Falling off a horse onto your arm had that effect._

_Uther gave him a look that made him drop his gaze to the floor. "Don't complain. Pendragons are not weak."_

_"I know."_

_Pendragons are not weak._

“Yes, I do. I have a kingdom that relies on me.”

He sneaked a look at her in the mirror, and her gaze was sorrowful. “You are more than just your crown.” 

He didn’t believe that. He had always been his crown. As a king, as a prince, he had always been royalty. His duty came first. Camelot came first. He couldn’t afford to be weak. He couldn’t afford to be anything less than fine.

Arthur didn’t respond, instead he kept at her dress, until he could help her out of it. He went to go hang it up, while she got out of her underdress and put on her night clothes. “There’s some food on the table,” she said, as he changed his own clothes. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“You should still eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She frowned, but let the matter drop. Placing his sword on the table beside the bed, Arthur sat down on it. Guinevere did as well, though she kept a foot away from him.

He didn’t look at her, and the two of them sat in silence until Arthur laid down and pulled the blanket over himself. It was a couple more minutes until Guinevere blew out the light and laid down as well.

* * *

Guinevere beat him to waking the next morning. She was already quietly seated at the table, playing with food on her plate when he woke. He frowned, pushing himself onto his elbows. 

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” he replied. Slowly he got out of bed, and came to sit with her at the table. She pushed a plate of food towards him. He looked at it, and then at her. She looked back at him, eyebrows creased with worry.

Arthur picked at a piece of bread.

“Talk to me?”

He tensed. “No.”

Defensive enough about being told what to do at the best of times, the events of the past year had worsened that. Even if Guinevere’s words were a suggestion and not an order, it still put him on his guard. He could still feel the echo of Merlin’s grip on his mind, a foreign feeling that was not meant to be there.

He supposed that it was a good thing as king that few people told him what to do. He no longer had the orders of his father overweighing his every action. He bit his lip.

“What is it?”

“Part of me wants to talk to you,” he said slowly. “But… I also don’t.”

“That’s understandable,” she said gently.

“And part of that is because you asked me to.” The biggest part was that he did not want to admit weakness. Life had instilled in him the lesson to hide that. People could not attack your weaknesses if they did not know what they were.

She frowned.

“I didn’t get a choice,” he said, not looking at her, but instead at the uneaten food on the plate before him. “While everything was happening, I did not get a choice. And when I was present, and I could feel everything but I just couldn’t…” he took a sharp breath.

“You want to be contrary because you couldn’t before.”

He met her gaze, and nodded. 

That was true for not just being under the spell, though it was the spell he was talking about here. He had been raised to follow orders.  

Not feeling as though he had the choice weighed heavily on him.

A twenty year old locked in the dungeons, for disobeying orders because he had gone to get a flower to save Merlin’s life. 

A ten year old locked in the dungeons, for disobeying orders and escaping his guards to ride in the forest.

 _Curled into himself, he leaned against the bars of the dungeon cells, his eyes on the torch on the wall further down the hall. He shivered, and pulled his red cloak tighter around him. He could hear voices of the guards around the corner. He caught his name, but did not hear the words that were said around it._  

_Arthur sniffled, then swallowed back the tears. Pendragons are not weak._

She reached out and put a hand on his arm. “If you’re not ready to talk, you’re not ready. You don’t have to do it.”

He put his hand on top of hers. “Thank you,” he said softly. She gave him a faint smile, which he returned. And despite the churning feeling in his stomach, picked up some of the fruit off of his plate and began to eat it.

* * *

His thoughts of what to do about the magic laws filled his brain constantly. It was an exhausting maze of emotions, and whatever he decided the fall out was not going to be pleasant. If he left them as they were, the councillors would be still be displeased, he would have laws against what he believed, he was tarnishing the memory of his father. 

If he changed them back, he looked contrary. He looked as though he would have changed them back because of the pressure. He looked weak. _Pendragons are not weak._

Keeping them as they currently were did not make him look weak. Despite the negativity it had caused him, despite the disagreement of his councillors, he seemed resolute in his ideas. He was firm in what he wanted, he changed the things that he saw wrong and he fixed them. Despite the tradition behind them.

He had done that for the First Knight’s Code. He had gotten a lot of abuse for that, but he had not changed his mind.

That was the same thing here.

Except here he was not sure he agreed with the change he had supposedly made.

Magic was dangerous. He had seen that his whole life. Ever since he was a child, the impacts of magic had affected his life. Feasts days ruined by sorcerers, the numerous attempts on his life. Magic twisting Morgana into his enemy. Killing his mother. Entrapping him in his mind for a year. 

Magic was wrong.

 _You said you would do anything to protect your people, do those with magic not count?_ Merlin’s voice in his mind taunted.

“Not when they’ve harmed my kingdom.”

But what about those that had not harmed his kingdom. 

What about the children that he had seen executed? That he had stood there on the balcony beside his father and watched mere children die. They had not harmed his kingdom.

What about the children he had killed? The druid raid that he had led. And his promise… his promise that when he was king he would change things.

He had not changed things.

Merlin had been right about that.

He wasn’t sure if he had a destiny to bring a golden age. Or a destiny to unite Albion. But he had made a promise to protect people. It was a duty placed down on him since he was a child, but it was still a promise. When he got crowned crown prince. When he accepted the throne on his father’s death. When he had stood in the forest, speaking to the spirit possessing Elyan. He had made a promise.

Perhaps it was time to make due on that promise.

 _Magic is wrong._  

Magic had taken the last year from him. It had taken his kingdom from him twice. It took his father. It took his mother. It took how many countless other lives? A lot of the misfortune that had befallen his city, befallen his people, befallen _him_ had been because of magic.

Arthur groaned, dropping his head into his hands. For once in his life, why could there not just be a simple answer. 

He had debated the merits of magic before. He’d agreed to use magic to save his father, _and then it killed him._ But the merits were still there, weren’t they?

He had helped Morgana save the life of that druid boy all those years ago.

A nausea overcame him, and he squeezed his eyes shut against it. Letting it pass. For all the harm that Morgana had caused him these past years, for all of that pain and that destruction, she was true to herself.

She had saved the life of a druid boy years ago. She had stood up against Uther about magic. And it had not been the only time.

Arthur was fickle. He had helped her save the child’s life. He had sometimes questioned his father. But he hadn’t always. He had bowed his head. Listened to orders. And done what it was that he was told.

He wished he could be like Morgana. In part, because she knew what she wanted. No matter how destructive that want was to him, she knew it. And she was going for it. 

Arthur instead sat in a confused stasis. He did not know what he wanted. He did not know what he was trying to achieve. He couldn’t make up his mind about magic.  

The voice in his head that debated the merits of magic sounded like Morgana. The one that warned around the dangers of magic sounded like his father.

Where was his voice?

What did he think?

He didn’t know.

It was easy to follow guidelines when that was all he had ever done.

* * *

When he entered his rooms after a council meeting, he found Guinevere walking back and forth in front of the fire, twisting her fingers together. He paused in the door. “Are you alright, love?” he asked. 

She paused, and turned to face him, biting harshly down on her lips. “Can we talk?”

He nodded, eyebrows drawing together. He closed the door behind him, and moved over towards her. Guinevere took hold of his hands, and then led him over to the bed. They both sat down on the edge of it.

“What is it?” he asked her nervously.

She looked down at their hands. “I… need you to promise to hear me out before you react.”

He eyed her. “I promise,” he said, after a moments debate. This was Guinevere. Whatever it was, he could hear her out.

“It’s about Lancelot,” her words were soft, hesitant.

Arthur tensed, and withdrew his hands from hers. Her face fell. But he said nothing, watching her. He had promised to hear her out. But the words sent a sharp pain through his chest. The memory of that betrayal rising suddenly to the surface 

Guinevere did not speak again right away. “I was thinking… the other day. When you were talking about how it felt to be made to do something, and not have a choice.” He squinted. _What did this have to do with Lancelot?_ “And I didn’t think that was something which magic could do. I didn’t think magic could manipulate people like that, I thought it was more abrupt in… attacking, or manipulating objects or… I didn’t think it could be used like that against people. 

He nodded. Arthur had to admit that he thought the same. He had not thought that magic could get into people in quite that way. _Magic is wrong._ This was more than just an offensive force that was difficult to fight – something which made the playing field unfair. Magic here was something that took away the playing field altogether. The chance to fight had been stripped away from him.

But what did this have to do with Lancelot?

Guinevere tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and still was not looking at him. “Back when – when – we were in the throne room after…” she took a shaky breath. “You asked me why.” Here she met his gaze, and the two of them looked at each other, the memories of them time vivid for the both of them.

“You said you didn’t know.”

She didn’t know why she had kissed someone she had once loved on the eve of their wedding.

“I didn’t,” her voice was pained. “What I said to you then was the truth. My love for Lancelot was faded. I loved – love you. And I kept thinking about it. And about why, because I couldn’t… I don’t. I didn’t know why, but I did it. And it just felt like… like I was compelled to.”

He frowned.

“Lancelot gave me a bracelet when he returned,” she said. “And I threw it off after you… in the cells…” she sniffled slightly, her voice unsteady. “And I think that’s when the ‘I don’t know’ hit me. Because that – that wasn’t just regret. It was not knowing why.” She looked at him with tear filled eyes. 

“…you think the bracelet was enchanted?”

She nodded.

“Oh Guinevere,” he breathed, and reached out to hold her hand. “I’m so sorry.” Sorry for that having happened, sorry for how he reacted, sorry for how it played out.

“You did what you… with what you knew…”

His grip on her hand tightened. “I’m sorry.”

She sniffled, and then that turned into a sob. Arthur scooted closer, and then put his arm around her. She leaned into his chest. Oh Guinevere. He wanted to help. But he didn’t know how. He was struggling with how to deal with it himself, he did not know what to offer her. 

He felt guilty. He felt guilty for banishing her from her home for something that he now found out had been outside of her control. That she had been manipulated too, and then been punished for it. 

He just held her tightly, trying to put all of those emotions into his hold.

“I – I don’t think it was Lancelot.”

“What do you…?”

“He wouldn’t. He sacrificed himself with the Disir because I… I asked him to keep you safe,” her voice was a little muffled, still pressed against him. 

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. How many people had died for him? How many people had died to keep him safe? More than he deserved.

“No matter what he felt, I don’t think he would do that,” she swallowed. “But Morgana…”

“Oh,” he said softly. Morgana would. Morgana who had sought to make their lives miserable since she had turned against them. Morgana who had nearly killed them numerous times. Morgana who wanted the throne that he and Guinevere now sat on. 

He thought back to what Guinevere had said when he had asked what she would do about Merlin. Her own comment that Merlin to him was like Morgana to her. A best friend that had betrayed them. He grimaced, and rubbed Guinevere’s shoulder.

He wished that he could take that pain from her. He was already dealing with it, he could take some more, but he didn’t want her to suffer with this.

* * *

He rose before Guinevere the next morning. Crept out of bed, hopefully without disturbing her and to the kitchens. Returning with two plates, and a couple of flowers, his wife was sitting up in bed.

“Good morning,” he said, kicking the door shut behind him and coming over to her.

“Morning,” she said, and gave him a faint smile.

Placing the tray to the side, he carried their plates over to the bed, passing her hers. “How are you?” he asked, trying to get onto the bed without jostling any of the food.

She shrugged her shoulders. “You?" 

“A bit of the same,” he said.

She grimaced, and then picked up the flower on the tray, twisting it in her fingers. “Thank you,” she leaned onto his shoulder.

“Any time." 

He didn’t know how to deal with any of this. He did not know how to deal with himself, nor how to deal with Guinevere. But he could try and make things easier for her. She had done her best to help him when he was struggling, he could that now in turn for her.

Even if he was still struggling himself. But it was easier to help her, than it was to figure out how to help himself.

“Do you need anything?" 

She shook her head. “I’m okay,” she said, sitting back up properly to pick at her food. “I’ll be okay.” He met her gaze and she offered him a faint smile, before holding the flower out to him.

“I got that for you.”

“I have another one,” she said, with a glance at the other on the plate. “This one is for you.”

He gave a fond smile and took it.

* * *

It was time to do something about Merlin.

Although he had largely kept him in the cells as Arthur debated what he was going to do with the man, part of that was the punishment itself. The cells were not a pleasant place. He knew the unpleasantness of having to spend a week in them. Even if as prince he had been treated perhaps slightly better than the other prisoners.

Walking to the throne room, he paused. A week. His father had locked him in the cells for a week. Squashed the flower that would save Merlin’s life, simply because Arthur disobeyed him.

Here he was thinking that they were an unpleasant place, for someone who had broken the law, for someone who had betrayed him, magically taken over his mind.

His father had done the same thing for disobeying, for not following orders.

And it had not been the first time.

He could remember it, rather clearly. He remembered his distress at the flower getting squashed, at being unable to get it to Merlin. But even after Guinevere had gotten it, even after Merlin had been saved, his distress had not been for the cells. 

He was used to it.

He knew he could wait it out.

It was not the first time. He had not expected it to be the last.

He could remember being a teenager, thrown into the cells for challenging Uther’s authority. Not now the timid child shivering through the night, wanting his father, wanting the comfort and warmth of his room. The dungeons were a scary place for an abandoned child to spend the night.

_A teenager, he paced the small length of the cell, back and forth, back and forth. Hearing footsteps, he turned to the entrance, seeing his father standing there. A stony face he’d come to dread, one which he later tried to adopt when he too tried to be imposing._

_“You know better than this, Arthur.”_

_The disappointment hurt, he dropped his gaze. Any excuses, or reasons, died on his lips. The thoughts he had formulated as he had paced back and forth, died unsaid. It was no use. Replying only made things worse._

_“Perhaps with a few days here, you will learn your lesson.”_

_When Uther left, the prince flopped down onto the ground of the cell, shoulders slumping._

It was a bit what like Guinevere had said. Being king gave you the option to react stronger to things than would have been possible. Uther had the authority to lock him the dungeons for disobeying, where another father would not have – because they could not have.

And he _had_ disobeyed. He had known full well there would be consequences for disobeying orders and he had done it anyway. That was on him.

There were punishments when you went against what you were meant to.

That was why Merlin was in the cells now.

Leon brought him from the cells again. This time Arthur had left his crown behind. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how his father managed to wear it all the time that he had. It was heavy, and uncomfortable. And while he could bear that discomfort for when he deemed it necessary, he preferred to go without it. 

It was not necessary here.

When he entered the room, Leon and Merlin were already there. Slowly he walked across the room to come to a stop before Merlin. A foot away, he looked into the eyes of his friend. _Why?_ Except he knew why. He had gotten those answers. But it still didn’t feel good enough. He knew why and yet… he still wanted to know why.

He cared about him. He had cared about all of them. Morgana. Agravain. Merlin. He would have done anything that he could have for them. Why was he always so blind to his misplaced trust? Why did he keep placing his trust into the hands of people who used that against him?

Where Merlin was different to Morgana, different to Agravain, was that he did not think Merlin was a threat to Camelot. And that’s what mattered. As long as Camelot was safe, Arthur could shoulder anything that happened to him. He had always been able to. 

If Merlin was a danger he would not have sat in the cells since it happened. He wouldn’t be standing before him now. He did not think he was a danger. He hoped he was not a danger.

“I have thought it over,” he said, and he saw the nervousness flash in Merlin’s eyes. “And I do not believe you are a danger to Camelot.” Merlin’s shoulder’s slumped in faint relief. “But if I have any reason to come to doubt that, the consequences will be severe.”

His father would not have waited for a reason to doubt it. His father would have executed him. For his magic, for what he had already done, for the potential that he had. Uther tried to stop problems before they became problems. He attacked magic before it could attack him, executed those before they became threats. 

Uther would have thought he was foolish. He was weak.

_“I…always thought that…”_

_“What?”_

_“That… I was a big disappointment to you.”_

_“Well, that is my fault, and not yours. You are my only son. And I wouldn’t wish for another.”_

He tried to push his father out of his mind, and instead looked at the man before him. “You are free to go.” The relief became more pronounced. “But you are no longer welcome within the bounds of the castle.”

Merlin blinked. “But-“

“You may stay in the city if you so desire. You are not permitted within the castle.”

“But Gaius-“

“Will have to make do.” Gaius who had lied to him since Merlin had come to Camelot. Gaius who had hidden Merlin’s magic. Gaius who had magic himself.

“Where will I live?”

“That is not my concern,” he said, a little sharpness to his tone. 

“You are kicking me out of my home, you might as well kick me out of the city and get on with it. 

Arthur took a sharp breath, and gave him a steely look. “Do you want me to punish you for your crimes, Merlin?” he questioned, adopting a cold tone. “Would you like to be officially charged with treason?”

“You’re officially punishing me regardless.”

“Not for treason. Not for magic.” The laws called for a great deal more than he was doing.

“Then for _what_?" 

Arthur looked at him. “For betrayal,” the word did not come out as steady as he wanted it to. “I do not believe you mean Camelot harm, so I am not inflicting those punishments on you.” Camelot came first. If he could pardon for Camelot than he could pardon for actions against him. “But I do not want you in my home.”

“It’s my home too.”

“This castle is mine. You have been permitted board within it these past years. I am revoking that privilege. You are no longer welcome here.” He might have shared this castle with the many other occupants inside of it. Knights, and servants, members of the court, castle staff. There was countless people within these halls, but that did not make it any less his home. He wanted to feel safe in his home.

He was a king. He would have been within his right to execute him, or to banish him. Restricting his entry to the castle was mild. And yet he was being argued against.

He wasn’t his father. Few had dared to argue against him. No one secure enough in their position to feel they could do so without consequence. Arthur himself never felt he could do so without harm.

Uther had grabbed Morgana by the throat once for fighting him.

Arthur had done nothing. 

Looked away.

He had not wanted it to be him. 

“I will not see you in here again,” he said, gave Leon a nod, and turned around to walk back out. Exhaustion weighed on his shoulders, but he held his head up high as he walked back through the halls. He had to keep it together.

Why was his father on his mind so much? He was trying to deal with Merlin. It brought up memories of Morgana, brief feelings of Agravain that he had never gotten to process with having been taken control of so soon after. But mostly his father.

His father hadn’t betrayed him.

Yet his brain kept pulling out these memories. Memories of the things he had done, the way that Arthur had felt. He was just trying to deal with this turbulence of emotions. He didn’t need his father. Well, he didn’t need these confused memories surrounding them. He did need his father.

He missed him terribly.

And he missed a time where he did not hold quite so much weight of the kingdom.

He couldn’t say none of it, because that was not true. He had carried the weight of Camelot since he was a child, but it had not been solely his. It had belonged to his father first.

* * *

The flower from Guinevere sat in a goblet on his desk. A patrol report was in front of him, and he scanned over it. “What are you reading?” Guinevere asked, moving to look over his shoulder.

“A patrol report,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Of no importance to you." 

There was a couple of moments of silence. “Arthur.”

He glanced sideways at her. “Yes?”

“Why did you say that?”

“Hm?” he questioned, eyes going back down to the report in front of him. 

“That it was of no importance to me.” 

He looked back at her, and then blinked. “Well I mean I guess it’s important in that you’re impacted by the patrols, but I –“

“It’s not important for me to know about?" 

“It’s not interesting for you to know about,” he offered. “It’s not really interesting for me to know about. But it is something that I have to know.”

“So why don’t I have to know it?”

Arthur looked at her a little uncertainty.

“This is now my kingdom too,” she reminded him gently. “These are now my people, and my patrols. This work is mine too, these issues are mine too. I can help you with this. I might not know a lot about it, but,” she gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “I can learn.”

His eyebrows drew together and he looked into her earnest brown eyes. “Why would you want to…?” he asked slowly.

“Why would I want to learn how to look after this kingdom? Because I want to help this kingdom. I want to help you,” she bobbed down, so she was kneeling on the floor beside him, and put a hand on his arm. “Because I am your wife, and I don’t want you to do this alone. And because I am your queen, and just as it is your duty to look after the people of Camelot, it is my duty too.”

Arthur blinked. And although nothing that she said was particularly strange, he still felt confused. Logically it all made sense, but somewhere in placing all of the pieces together, he felt lost.

“What is it?” she asked him. 

“I’ve always known that Camelot was my duty to look after,” he said. “But I’ve always been expecting for that to be duty alone. Camelot is my responsibility." 

“When I married you, it became mine too,” she said, her voice soft but passionate. “I’ve always known that being with you would mean helping you carry your crown. I love you. For you. Camelot was not a factor for that. I didn’t marry you because you were a king. But I knew I was marrying a king. And I knew that in doing that, I was taking on some of the duty you’ve lived with your whole life.”

“And you married me anyway?” Admittedly, he hadn’t thought of that. He had thought that it would be different for Guinevere going from a serving girl to a Queen. And he had thought how it was going to be perceived for him. But he had not considered what exactly Guinevere being a queen would mean.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

At a loss for words, Arthur leaned over and kissed her, and tried to put everything that he felt into that kiss. “I love you too,” he said softly, pressing his forehead against hers. 

She reached out and brushed his hair back. “Did you not think that I had thought of that?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted. So it made sense that he then wouldn’t have thought that she would have thought of it.

“You weren’t expecting your queen to take on responsibility for the country?” she asked, frowning at him. 

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t get an example of a queen,” he said. “I got an example of a king who shouldered all of that responsibility himself.” It was not only Arthur who had suffered from the loss of his mother. And not only for the impact that Igraine’s death had caused on the laws and the magical population of Camelot. The kingdom had lost its queen.

Guinevere leaned up a bit to kiss his cheek. “This kingdom isn’t yours alone. I am here to help you.”

He smiled faintly at her. “Pull over a chair, I’ll go through these reports with you.”

* * *

Having left Leon in charge of the knights, Arthur decided to take training of the squires. It was not a job that he did often. Green knights, more so, but before they were knights? It was not something that he had done.

The group of teenagers looked like startled rabbits as he walked over to them, giving each other panicked looks. Perhaps they were wondering what it was that they had done wrong. “Good morning,” he greeted.

There was a stuttered response of ‘good morning, your majesty,’ back at him, as they all looked anywhere that wasn’t at him. A glance out of the corner of his eye proved that a few of the knights had their curious gazes on Arthur – wondering what it was that he was doing.

This was going to be harder. But if he couldn’t go back to the basics and teach squires, and those without much skill, than he had little place standing before knights and trying to teach them the skills he had learnt.

Explaining a warm up drill, he got them to begin.

Oh boy.

He had underestimated this situation.

He could count two, maybe three, who were in the right position. A handful were holding their swords ineffectively. He let out a small sigh, looking at them all. He could _fight_ by their age. He had been in tournaments, he had beaten knights. He had been steadily rising to his position as the best fighter in Camelot, and before him was a mess.

_Those thoughts are not helpful, Arthur._

Pushing them aside, he called for the group to stop. “Okay,” he said. “Everyone put your swords to the side for the time being.” The group glanced uncertainly at each other, before they all listened to him.

He got them to begin with stretches. Unsure if they would have done that before he had arrived.

There was no point teaching people who did not know what they were doing how to fight with a sword. They needed a few steps before they got to that point. Patiently, Arthur ran them through posture, he ran them through keeping their core centred and through how to maintain their balance.

They did not touch their weapons for the lesson.

By the time they became green knights, people knew how to fight. They knew enough of the basics they could outstand the timer. Arthur could pick up how to teach them to refine their skills from there. He had not thought about how to teach them before that stage. How to teach people who did not yet know how to fight.

"You did well with them," Leon said, when he came over later, once the squires had left. The knights who had lingered nearby to watch were too starting to leave.

He gave him an appreciative nod. "I had to plan as I went. I was expecting them to have some skills." That was not a completely fair comment to all of them. Some had been decent. One of them - Gareth? - had shown clear potential.

"Give them some slack," Leon said. "They're young. They'll learn."

"I could fight when I was their age," he returned. "And _well_."

The other man gave him a long look. "Yes, but you're a special case, Arthur."

"What's that meant to mean?" He asked defensively, eyes narrowing. 

He continued to look at him, and the gaze made his defenses heighten more. Leon sighed softly. "We watched you train," he said, moving his gaze across the training field to where Percival and Elyan were sparring. "Harder than many of us, for longer at a time than many of us. You had a sword in your hand years before it should have been placed there."

"I was a prince," Arthur returned. "I needed to know how to defend myself, defend this kingdom."

"You were a prince," he agreed. "But you were also a child."

_As he followed Sir Ector to the training field, they walked through the courtyard. A handful of children, were running through it, darting after each other. Arthur stopped for a moment, his eyes on them._

_"Come, Arthur. This is no time for games."_

_Reluctantly, he followed his teacher, eyes lingering on the other children. Their shouts and laughter followed him._

Eyes refocusing on Elyan and Percival fighting across the field, Arthur frowned. He had not played much, not as he got older, and was no longer just a child underfoot. But he had been a prince. None of the other children had been princes. No one else had a kingdom they were going to inherit. He was different. So he was raised differently.

That’s just the way that it was.

Was Leon telling him that that was not the way that it was? That his childhood should not have been the way that it was?

He was the greatest fighter in Camelot. Perhaps in Albion. Something that had undoubtedly saved his life numerous times, for all the battles that he had been in. Was that not worth it? Was that not worth the hours on this field?

Was that not worth the fact that he had not gotten to be a child?

Camelot came first.

It did now, it did when he was a child.

* * *

There was a tentative knock on the door. Arthur and Guinevere, going through the grain reports before a meeting that afternoon both glanced up towards it. “Enter,” Arthur called.

A boy entered the room, his gaze was a little nervous, but he clasped his hands behind his back and stopped just inside the door. “Your majesties,” he greeted, giving them both a bow.

“Good morning,” Arthur returned. “Who are you?”

“Lucan, your majesty. The steward sent me, he said you were in need of a servant.”

Ah. 

That he was.

Since Merlin had been arrested, various castle staff had been filling the roll, sharing the load between them amongst what other duties they had. Guinevere’s own serving girl, Niniane, had also been looking after the both of them.

Still, it made Arthur grimace. 

He didn’t _want_ another servant. Not that he wanted Merlin back either, with all that had happened. He just… he wanted what had happened to have not happened. He wanted things to be okay, for Merlin not to have betrayed him. He wanted things to go back to how they had been before all of this.

His chest ached.

Lucan seemed to sense his reluctance, and looked hesitantly at him. “Was that not the case, your majesty? 

“No, no,” he said. “It is.” He didn’t want it to be the case, but it was. Such was his life. “Come in.” The boy closed the door properly, and stepped a few steps further in, but then stalled again.

It had been a long time since he had gotten a new servant. For all that he had torn through them when he was younger, changing them constantly. He’d dismissed servants for trivial matters, some had quit rather than put up with him. And then there had been Merlin. Merlin who had stood by his side these past years. Merlin who had betrayed him. It was difficult to reconcile the two together. 

He looked a little hopelessly at Guinevere, who, with a faint smile, turned towards the boy. “You’re Martha’s son, aren’t you?” she questioned.

“The seamstress?” Arthur cut in, before the boy could answer. That was the seamstresses name, wasn’t it?

“I am, yes,” he said. “And yes, your majesty. The seamstress.”

“I remember you as a child,” Guinevere said, smiling. “Getting underfoot as your mother worked.”

Lucan gave a faint laugh. “Yes, I was good at that,” he paused a moment, his eyes on Guinevere. “Mother always said how kind you were. Even all those years ago.”

She blushed a little. “Your mother is a lovely lady.”

Arthur was silent, watching the two of them as they talked. It wasn’t as though he forgot that Guinevere had been a servant, but sometimes he forgot that she would have made particular relationships because of that. She spoke cheerily to the cook in a way that he couldn’t, or laughed with some of the serving girls as they passed through the halls with their baskets of laundry.

She had adapted well to being queen, but she hadn’t forgotten her roots.

Lucan slowly relaxed as he conversed with Guinevere, though his eyes kept flickering nervously to Arthur, as though he was expecting the man to cut the conversation short.

Finally, Guinevere said. “I don’t believe we need any help at the moment, Lucan. But if you could return at lunch time, that would be greatly appreciated." 

“Of course, your majesty.”

She smiled at him, and Lucan bowed at them both, before retreating out the door. “He’s a nice boy,” she said, once he was gone. 

“He seems nice,” Arthur agreed. “I think you made him feel welcome.”

“Well I wasn’t leaving that to you,” she teased. “You made a terrible first impression when I first became a servant in this household.”

“ _Ten years ago._ ” She laughed, and Arthur shook his head.  “I’d like to think I have changed some in the last decade.” And he could admit, however reluctantly, and not out loud, that he had not been a pleasant teenager.

“You have. A lot,” she dropped her teasing expression and looked at him sincerely. “I’m proud of you.”

 A little red rose into his cheeks, and he ducked his head. 

She leaned over and kissed his cheek, before pulling the grain report back in front of her. 

Gathering himself, Arthur raised his gaze back to it as well.

* * *

“We should go on a picnic,” Guinevere said, as the two of them sat eating breakfast. Lucan was over at the bed, fixing up the sheets.

“A picnic?”

“Yes. It’s when-“ 

“I know what a picnic is,” he said with a roll of his eyes, as Guinevere laughed. “I’m just not sure that I have time for a spontaneous picnic.” 

“I didn’t say today,” she returned, picking up a piece of fruit off of her plate. “I said a picnic. That could be whenever.” 

“I thought you meant today.”

She shrugged her shoulders, her eyes sliding to the window. “It is beautiful weather today." 

His eyes also went to the window. “It is,” he admitted, but then shook his head. “I’m too busy. I have a lot that needs to get done.”

“You always have a lot that needs to get done. That does not mean that you can’t take a break. They are good you know.”

“I know, I know,” he said, dropping the food that he was eating onto his plate. He didn’t want to have this disagreement. As much as he would like to go on a picnic with his wife, there was a pile of things that he needed to do. Papers needed to go through, there was training, he needed to check the food storages, and go over the new patrol system with some of the nights. “But I am busy.”

“The kingdom won’t fall apart if you leave it behind for just one day,” she said, pushing her own plate of food to the side.

“The kingdoms has things it needs me to do before I can spend my time recreationally. Camelot comes first.”

“Not every single time.”

“Every single time.”

This kingdom came before him. No matter what.

Guinevere looked troubled. “Just for a little while? You can do some work, and then we’ll go. And then you can come back in the afternoon and get some more done. Just for a little while, you can’t begrudge yourself that, can you?”

He bit his lip, looked at her hopeful face, and the clear blue sky outside. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.” And despite that he felt he shouldn’t be taking a break, it was worth it to see the smile on her face.  

* * *

It was nice to get time outside of the city. Time that was just him and Guinevere. He’d refused the offer for knights to come with them. He had been alone in these woods before, and he knew that he could protect both himself and Guinevere.

“Here?” he suggested, pulling his horse to a stop near a stream. 

“We had our first picnic here.”

He smiled at her. “We did.”

The picnic itself had been nice, though the events that had followed it had been decisively less so. Guinevere threatened with banishment, and then almost executed. Arthur grimaced. His father had nearly killed someone he loved because Uther had thought it was magic. 

He couldn’t understand why Arthur would love her if it wasn’t for magic.

He looked at his queen, and there was so many things about her that he loved. He was lucky.

His father had been wrong.

“Or perhaps somewhere further along?” he said, wanting to push the thoughts of his father out of his mind. “There is a lot of this forest we’ve yet to see.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen all of it,” Guinevere said, but she nudged her horse into a walk, and there was something in her eyes that made Arthur wonder if her brain had gone the same place as his. Nearly dying at the hands of his father. And not for the first time. 

“Well… there might be a few rocks I’ve left unturned." 

She laughed. “Where’s your favourite place?”

“I’ll take you there another day,” he promised. “We’ll have to get on the road a little earlier to make it there and back in a day.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’m going to hold you to that,” she warned.

Arthur’s smile widened. “I hope that you do.”

She had been right to suggest this, and then to push him until he came along. It was nice to be out here with her. Far better than going through the pile of papers on his desk. 

He regretted thinking about that, reminding himself of what it was that he had to go back to later. _Later._ He could enjoy this now without pre-occupying himself too much with thoughts of later.

“What about here?” he asked, stopping again in an opening.

“Here is nice,” she said, dismounting.

He did the same, and unhooked the picnic supplies. Guinevere fastened the horses to a tree, while he placed down the blanket, and pulled out some of the food. “You wouldn’t think we’re as close to the city as we are,” she said, as she moved over towards him.

“You wouldn’t,” he agreed. “This forest has that effect.” It did make him feel separate from the city. It was part of why he liked to be out here as a child, it felt like a break from the city and everything in it. 

Stopping before she reached him, Guinevere picked a pile of daisies out of the nearby grass. He watched her silently, as she scooped them into her hands, and then dropped them on the blanket before them. “You, Arthur Pendragon, are about to learn how to make a flower crown. 

“A flower crown?” 

“Yes.” 

His lip twitched, amused. “Okay.”

Shooting him a grin, she picked up a flower, tied a knot in it, picked up another, and then deftly combined them. “You try,” she said.

“Uh.”

“Come onnnn.”

Shaking his head, Arthur picked up a flower, trying to echo what she had done. “My fingers are bigger than yours,” he said defensively when he struggled.

“Uh huh,” she said with a laugh, peering over his shoulder. “There you are! You did it.”

“All one flower.”

“One at a time makes a crown,” she said cheerfully, and picked up another flower to add to her chain. She worked a lot faster them him, although stopped periodically to help. Soon, she had a joined circlet, while Arthur still had a small line of daisies, which was trying very hard to fall apart.

Giggling, she gently placed her crown atop his head. “Fit for a king,” she said, and then kissed him. 

“I can’t see my flower crown if you’re kissing me,” he jokingly protested when she pulled away, then followed and kissed her back. 

She pulled back. “Back to work then.”

Laughing, and trying not to jostle the circlet of flowers atop his head, he finished his.

And then it fell apart in his hands as he tried to join the edges together. “Damn,” he hissed, looking at the pile of daisies now on his lap.

She giggled again, and he looked up at her petulantly. “You did a good effort for a first go,” she said with a smile. “I’ll get you sewing one day.”

“String doesn’t break as easy as flower stalks, that might be easier.”

“Only if you don’t care about how neat the sewing is.”

“And if I don’t care?”

“Then I guess you’re right,” she said with a shake of her head. He laughed, and his crown fell off. Guinevere went to scoop it back up, but it fell apart into one line. “See,” she said, discarding it to the side. “It isn’t just you.”

“Good, so I can blame the flowers.”

She laughed. “Yes, I suppose you can.”

* * *

He had invited Leon into their room. He and Guinevere sat at the table as Arthur paced back and forth. “What should I do about the magic laws?” No matter how he spun it over in his mind, he could not find the answer. 

“What do you want to do?” Guinevere asked.

“If I knew that, there wouldn’t be a problem,” he said, a hint of impatience in his tone.

“No, the problem is your duty is conflicting with your wants, and also perhaps with your sense of justice. Forget how it might fall out, what do you want to do?”

“I don’t want to seem indecisive,” he said, dodging the question. She noticed that he had, because she frowned, although she let him continue to talk. “I fear that changing the laws back to how they were will be an ill mark against me. Especially as, to knowledge, there hasn’t been a large magical attack since they were changed.”

Leon and Guinevere both began to talk at once. She stopped and looked at him, and he spoke. “It sounds like you do not want them changed, you just fear personal consequence of changing them back.”

“Which is not worth the consequence to the people of allowing magic into the kingdom.” What if his people got hurt because he feared personal consequence? That was unacceptable.

“But there is also a personal consequence as it is now,” Leon said. “Many of your older councillors are displeased by this change, there is a lot of mumbling about your actions.”

“Not to interrupt,” Guinevere said. “But, Arthur. You said there hasn’t been a magical attack since the laws changed.”

“Yes?”

“And how many were there before the laws changed?”

He shrugged his shoulders. He had not kept a tally of it, it would have been near impossible to do so. “Countless.”

“So maybe…” she said slowly. “Maybe the kingdom has been safer since then.” Both Leon and Arthur looked at her. “Magic has caused Camelot a lot of harm and… it has caused me a lot of harm.” Arthur thought of Morgana, he thought of her father’s death, he thought of her near misses because of magic. “But maybe… maybe when you’re not trying to kill people for magic, they stop trying to kill you back.”

He frowned, stopped his pacing and came to sit down at the head of the table. “You think leaving the magic laws as they are now, is a good thing?”

“When I became Queen, I promised to protect the people of this land. All of them. That includes those with magic who have done no wrong.”

He thought of the destruction and loss of magical lives that Arthur had caused. He thought of the druid boy who had possess Elyan. He thought of his promise to give the druids the respect they deserved. A promise unfilled.

Camelot came first. His people came first. Their safety came first. It was a comment that Merlin had made, and one which he had discarded because of who had said it. But as of right now, he wasn’t inclined to discard the things which Guinevere was saying.

He had made a promise to protect his people.

He just always been told, always thought, that that promise meant expelling magic. If there was no magic in his kingdom than his people would be safer. That was how his father had brought peace to the kingdom.

Had there really been peace? With how many attacks Camelot had suffered. Both from individual people, but also from larger threats. Their kingdom had been overthrown twice only in the last few years.

_Because of magic._

Because of Morgana.

What had turned Morgana against them. 

_Magic._

_Morgause._

Finding out Uther’s lies.

Had magic turned Morgana against them? Or had Morgana turned against them because of magic.

Because she, like Merlin, wanted to protect magical people.

He thought of the druid boy. The one Morgana had risked her life to save, and then risked it again. 

He too, had thought it wrong. He was only a child. He reminded Arthur a great deal of the other druid children that he had let die. _You saved his life._ Because of Morgana. Because Morgana had pushed at his sense of justice. Because she had reminded him that the death of a child was a worse crime than disappointing their father.

A lesson he never seemed to learn.

He had saved that child despite his father, despite the laws. He had promised peace to the spirit possessing Elyan. Yet his laws were still as they were.

 _They were children._ He couldn’t justify killing children. They were innocent.

_What of innocent magical adults?_

Is there such a thing?

“What are you thinking, Arthur?” Guinevere asked him softly, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Morgana,” he answered honestly, and the two other occupants grimaced. “She was always… kind, and passionate, and just and… she always stood up for everyone, no matter what. She protected Camelot…. Until she tried to overthrow it. But… she was braver than me. She fought father where I never would have dared.”

 _She got away with more than you did,_ his mind reasoned. And that was true. The king had doted on Morgana, accepted her remarks and her actions with far more leniency than he allowed from his son.

Perhaps that was why she was brave enough, because she had not gotten shut down at every turn.

“She overthrew Camelot. And… I do think there was a little bit of selfishness in there. And despite the harm she did while Queen,” beside him, Leon’s expression hardened. “I can’t help but think of her as the girl who disobeyed the king to save the life of a druid boy.”

Guinevere looked at him. “You saved his life too.”

Leon glanced between the both of them, frowning ever so slightly, but he held his tongue.

“That wasn’t the point of this,” he said softly. “The point was… maybe you’re right. Maybe I would still have a sister if fear and hate hadn’t gotten to her. Maybe if we’d allowed magic she’d…” he shook his head. There was little point thinking in what ifs. He couldn’t change the past.

He did have the power to change the future.

_You saved his life too._

He asked himself why?

Because he got not justify the death of a child. He could not stand aside, again, and do nothing as an innocent died. The innocent did not deserve to die.

If a child with magic could be innocent, then perhaps so could adults. It was the person, not the ability. Feeling as though he was shedding a load off his shoulders, Arthur looked at the two of them. “Magic being legal stays.”

Guinevere smiled faintly, Leon nodded, then said. “Then we best start putting out fires.”

Arthur nodded back.

This ordeal would not end soon.

* * *

The sun was barely tinting the sky, and Arthur had been awake long before even the hint of day reached Camelot. Guinevere slept peacefully beside him. With a soft sigh, he pulled himself out of bed and silently so as not to wake her, dressed and left the room.

Not wanting to keep still, and feeling as though he had better things to be doing than aimlessly wandering the halls of his castle, he headed for the training field. 

As the sun slowly began to rise, he went through his movements, trying to burn the restless energy in his bones.

He spotted movement out of the corner of his eye, and so stopped, twirling his sword around his hand and turning to face it. Hovering near the edge of the field was one of the squires – Gareth? The boy looked a little nervous and as Arthur’s gaze settled on him, he took a step back. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, your majesty,” he said quickly.

“Not at all,” Arthur said, his eyes landing on the sword the boy was holding loosely beside him. “You were coming to train?”

He nodded.

“You’re up early.”

“I like to get extra practice in before training starts for the day.”

Arthur smiled. He liked this squire. He showed a lot of potential. He gestured him over. “Then come practice.”

“I don’t want to both-“

“You’re not,” he reassured him kindly. “Come on, I’ll give you some tips.”

A little hesitantly, though with an excited gleam in his eye, the boy came over.

As he did so, Arthur held up his sword. The boy echoed the movement. “Three, two, one, go.” As he said go, he spun his sword around his hand, readjusting it.

The boy’s eyes lingered on the sword, losing his concentration for a moment. Usually Arthur would have taken that second to strike, but he didn’t, instead he waited to see what Gareth would do.

Once he got his focus again, he moved. _He’s going left. Low blow._ Sure enough, that’s what he did. Arthur blocked it easily and parried back. Gareth was ready, blocking it neatly. “Good,” he said approvingly, and the boy brightened, though tried to keep his attention on what he was doing.

Arthur struck again, and it was blocked again. “Careful not to just defend, you need to take every opportunity to strike back. You’ll rarely win by block-“ Halfway through the sentence, Gareth swung at him. Smiling, Arthur blocked it, and Gareth immediately followed it with another.

Holding his strength back, Arthur continued to parry, correcting and giving tips as he went. As the morning progressed, and the rest of the knights arrived for morning training, Arthur called it to a stop. “You did really well,” he told the boy. Although breathing harshly, he grinned.

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. “Rest a minute,” he said. “Training is about to start.” He gave a smile and moved over towards his knights. He approached Gwaine and Percival, although as he did so, Gwaine moved away to talk to Elyan. 

Arthur’s eyes followed the movement, but the knight did not look back. Percival looked vaguely uncomfortable, although he smiled at Arthur. “Early start?" 

“When isn’t it?”

 He laughed. “Fair enough.”

Arthur returned the smile, and then went to move to the front of the field. “Good morning.”

* * *

If there was one thing that Arthur had always been able to put his work aside for, it was a hunt. Crossbow at his side, he, and a few other knights rode through the streets of Camelot towards the forest.

As they passed the tavern, Arthur caught sight of Merlin and Gwaine walking towards it. Neither of them seemed to realise the other knights riding nearby.

His eyes lingered on them as they passed, as Merlin laughed, and nudged his shoulder into Gwaine.

Swallowing, Arthur looked forward, ignoring the tightness in his chest.

 _Gwaine doesn’t know what happened,_ his mind reasoned. He had not told the knight, and who knew what Merlin had told him. But it hurt all the same. He should tell him, at least give Gwaine the truth of what happened.

Except the more people that knew, the greater chance that he was going to have to do something more about Merlin. And while he didn’t believe Gwaine would cause an issue like that, all the same…

He still didn’t _want_ to talk about it. He didn’t want to widen the group of people that knew what had happened. Knew what he had suffered. It was hard enough as it was. 

He sighed softly, tension building in his shoulders.

 

 

 

 

A meeting had been called, but as of yet, Arthur was the only one in the room. He had arrived well before he was meant to, and had sat himself down to go over some notes before him as he waited for someone else to enter.

The first to enter was Pellinor. A man who had been a knight for as long as Arthur could remember. Probably for as long as Arthur had been alive. If it sometimes something of a disconcerting thought - to remember that the people he was in charge of had been protecting this country for longer than he had been alive.

Sometimes he wondered if the knights thought that too. There was sometimes something in their gaze that made him think they did. He was not his father. He was no longer a child, but he was still young. They still had decades of experience on him.

“Good day, Sir Pellinor,” he greeted.

“Your majesty,” the knight returned with a bow of his head. Arthur wasn’t sure whether he was imagining the stiffness in his tone or not. The knight went to sit further around the table, but Arthur gestured to the seat beside him. “Come sit.”

Pellinor paused. “Are you not saving that spot for Sir Percival, sire? Or perhaps Sir Elyan?”

Arthur wondered if that was a jab against the commoners he had chosen to knight. Probably. It would not surprise him to find out that it was. Instead of rising to the bait, he just smiled. “I chose a round table as it afforded no knight a higher position than any other. You are all as equally welcome to sit wherever in the table as you so choose.”

The man regarded him for a couple of seconds, before he moved over and took a seat beside him. He said nothing, but continued to watch Arthur. “Is everything well, Sir Pellinor?” he asked, pushing his notes to the side, and looking to the man.

“Of course, your majesty.”

“I am glad to hear it,” he said.

“Is there anything that you wish to discuss with me?”

The knight looked at him for another couple of seconds. The silence answered his question, though the man had a “nothing that has not already been discussed fruitlessly. 

He hid a grimace. Pellinor was one of his father’s men. He would be having a problem with the magic laws. “The decisions that I have made, have been made with Camelot’s best interests,” he said. It was not a new comment, but he felt perhaps it deserved repeating. Everything that he was doing was with the hope that it would aid his country, and his people. He never would have done something to harm them.

Though the magic laws were a contentious issue, and not one that he was completely certain of himself. But it was one where he felt as though the benefits outweighed the risks - it protected more innocent people than it condemned harmful ones. And that was what he was trying to do. Protect the innocent.

Even if magic had caused so much harm. Even if magic had caused him so much grief.

“I am certain that you believe that, sire,” he said stiffly, and Arthur grimaced.

Sir Gaheris was the next to enter. He was older than Arthur, although by no means as old as Pellinor, or his father had been. He gave Arthur a respectful nod, and a smile. And when the king gestured to the seat beside Pellinor, he moved towards it without protest. “I hope you are well, your majesty.”

“Very, thank you,” he said with a smile. “And yourself?”

“Certainly,” he said. “A peaceful city makes for happy knights.”

Beside them both, Pellinor gave a ‘hmph’, and both Arthur and Gaheris paused a second. Gamers picked up the silence. “I hear there is going to be a tournament soon?” he questioned.

“Yes,” Arthur said. “I will talk about it in the meeting, but I thought a harvest’s end tournament would be enjoyable.”

“I think the people would like that,” Gaheris said with a smile.

A few more came into the room, Gaheris and Arthur drawing them into conversation. Some joined it happily, others, like Pellinor, looked largely displeased with everything. Guinevere came to sit beside him, squeezing his hand under the table. Gwaine entered the room, and although his gaze landed on Arthur, he did not address his king.

The two looked at each other for a few moments, before Bors drew Gwaine into a conversation.

Underneath the table, Gwen’s hand tightened on his. He looked at her, and she tilted her head to the side questioningly. Arthur nodded back. Once the room, and the table, was full, Arthur called the meeting to a start.

* * *

Leaning his head on one of his hands, Arthur read the pile of papers before him softly out loud. Frowning, he picked up his quill, scratching out one of the lines and altering it to something else. Reading it again, he gave a satisfied smile.

He heard the door open, but halfway through another sentence, he didn’t glance up. Besides, he recognized the sound of Guinevere’s steps. He heard her place something down on the table across the room, and once he got to the end of the page, he looked up. Noticing a small wooden box, he tilted his head to the side. “What have you got there?”

Guinevere gestured him over. “Come here.”

His eyes flickered to his papers, but then he moved over to see what it was that she had.

“It’s a game I used to play as a child,” she said, taking the lid off the box, revealing a small handful of knucklebones in the box.

“How do you play?” he asked her. 

She tipped the five knucklebones into her hand, then threw them up. Turning her hand over quickly, she tried to catch them on the back of her hand. She caught two, the other three clattered noisily onto the table.

From where they were on the back of her hand, she threw them up again, and turned her hand. She caught one, and narrowly missed the other. “So this one is now your taw,” she said, looking at the knucklebone in her hand. 

She threw it up again, picked up one of the bones on the table, and with the same hand, tried to catch the falling knucklebone. It missed, hit the table, and then fell to the floor. “I haven’t done this in a while,” she said with a laugh, bending down to pick it up.

Guinevere tried again. This time she caught it.

“Now what?” Arthur asked her.

“You put one to the side, and keep going,” she said. “And then you can try picking up two at a time and catching, or three and catching or… there’s lots of different versions, but this is kind of the beginning version.”

“Okay…” he said, she held out the bone in her hand to him. Taking it, he gathered the others off the table. “So I throw them, and then catch them?”

“On the back of your hand,” she said.

He nodded, threw the five bones up, and then turned his hand. He caught three of them, the fourth hit his hand then fell to the table, the fifth went clattering.

“Now throw them again, and turn your hand and catch. 

Arthur did that. He caught two easily, and narrowly caught the third. “You have better reflexes then me,” Guinevere said with a laugh, as he smiled.

“I’d hope so.”

“So pick one to be your tar, and put the others down.” He did so, turning the bone around in his hand. “Now throw that, and pick up one of the ones on the table, and catch it.”

Arthur’s eyes flickered to the other bones on the table. Throwing the knucklebone in his hand up, he grabbed one off the table, and then carefully caught the one that was falling down.

“Next time, I’m introducing you to a game I am better at,” she said, as Arthur place one of them to the side, and did the same thing again. He just laughed.

It got harder when he tried to pick up more than one before he caught the one that he had thrown.

One of the bones went clattering to the floor as there was a knock. “Enter,” Arthur called, as he moved to pick up the fallen bone.

Sir William was on the other side of the door. “You have been requested at the throne room, sire,” he said.

“For what purpose?” Arthur asked.

“There has been an arrest. Of a magical person.”

He frowned. He knew that it had been standard procedure for the king to be brought for any cases involving magic, but magic was no longer illegal. The situation was different. “I will be there momentarily,” he said. 

William nodded, and withdrew. 

“Duty calls,” he said with a faint smile at Guinevere.

“Doesn’t it always?” she returned, as he dropped the bone in his hand back into the wooden box. “What are you going to do?”

“It depends on the facts presented to me.”

“But magic isn’t-“

“They may have been brought to me for a crime other than magic,” he pointed out. She gave an acknowledging tilt of her head, and held out her arm to him. Arthur took it.

As they entered the throne room, Arthur’s eyes scanned the room. Some members of the court lined the walls, in the center was an old man on his knees, two guards at his shoulders.

A heaviness settled in Arthur’s bones as he and Guinevere moved to the front of the room. As he stopped, he caught the eyes of the man on his knees. His gaze was tired and resigned. He had lived through Uther’s reign, he had lived through the years of magical prosecution.

Uther had led over two decades of terror against magical users, and yet people had still slipped through the cracks. This man before him, Merlin, who knew however many others… _You failed._ It had been his job to help track down the magical people in his Camelot. Wasn’t it good that he had failed? Wasn’t it good that innocent people weren’t dead?

His father would be disappointed to learn the amount that had survived.

His father would be disappointed in a lot of things.

“What is your name?” Arthur asked the man. 

“Boris, your majesty.”

“And why have you been brought before me today?”

“I do not know, sire.”

Arthur’s gaze flickered to one of the guards beside him. “What is his accused crime?" 

“He works in an apothecary in the city, sire. One of the customers walked in and saw him using magic.”

The guard stopped. Arthur continued to look at them expectantly. There was a couple of moments silence. When it seemed evident that the guard wasn’t going to continue, Arthur said. “And his crime?" 

“Uh,” the guard blinked, there was another few moments of silence. “The customer saw him using magic-“

“Which is no longer illegal.” His tone was calm, yet firm. “If magic is the only thing then-" 

“What if he was using magic to tamper with the potions?” At the interruption, Arthur turned his head and looked at Lot. The man looked unwaveringly at him, though a few of the people around him winced at his gall at interrupting.

“I do not believe this is a public forum, Sir Lot,” he said, turning his gaze back to the man before him, and the guards beside him. “Is the only reason you have brought him before me because he was seen using magic?”

The guard shifted awkwardly. “Yes, your majesty.”

His gaze turned to Boris on his knees. “Then you are free to go. My apologies for the circumstances. 

The man rose to his feet, and gave him a look of approval. “Camelot is in good hands,” he said, and then turned to leave the rom.

There was silence until he left, and then Lot spoke again. “You don’t know that he doesn’t mean harm,” he said sharply.

Once again, Arthur turned his gaze to him. “I do not know that for a lot of people in this city,” he said. “But until an individual proves that they wish harm, I am not persecuting them for a _maybe._ ”

“There is a greater chance that he means harm than most people in this city.”

“Because of magic?”

“Yes.”

 “Sir Lot. Swords have been a greater danger to me in my life than magic has.” Or at least on par. “Should I persecute everyone with a sword in case they choose to attack me?”

“You are wary of people with swords as they approach you.”

“I am,” he said. “And likewise, I am wary of people with magic as they approach me. But neither means that they mean me harm, and neither means that I should preemptively persecute them. I believe in a fair and just Camelot, one that relies of proof of harm before irreversible actions are taken.”

“You will bring this city down.”

The man to Lot’s left grimaced. Arthur wanted to remind him sharply who it was that he was talking to, that it was wildly inappropriate to talk to his king like that. But he was still mending the harm that the mind control had caused on his relationship with the knights, and his councilors, and he did not want to further alienate relationships that he could fix 

He did not think that he could fix this one.

There was too much stubbornness in this man, too much determination to hold onto the way that things had been, the belief that he was right.

Arthur was never going to be able to fix that. The only way to appease Lot would be to give him what he wanted. And what he wanted was not something Arthur was willing to do. It was something that he never should have been willing to do. He never should have been willing to target innocent people.

 _You didn’t think they were innocent._ That was what Uther had instilled in him – that those with magic were not innocent, that they deserved to die before they could cause more harm.

But that wasn’t entirely true, was it. He had killed children, he had saved children. He had known better. Not always. Not for everyone. But sometimes. Behind the mask of duty, he had brought harm to his people.

He had been a prince. It was his duty to follow the laws. And he hadn’t wanted to disappoint his father. It was easier to follow the orders he had been told to follow.

He was no longer a prince. He was still caught in the web of duty, of pleasing his father’s memory, of doing the right thing. _What is the most important?_

 _Doing the right thing._  

That was his job. Before anything else, protecting Camelot was his job. Protecting his people, doing the right thing for them.

“Believe what you will, Sir Lot. But this city will be stronger and safer. I made a vow to protect my people, and that is what I am dedicating my life to doing. You may not agree with my methods, but I am determined to see them through. I do not wish to rule a Camelot where innocent people fear for their lives.”

Lot’s expression darkened, and Arthur knew in that moment that his relationship with the man was not going to recover. _I can’t please everybody. I have to do what is right._

* * *

 

 "You handled that well,” Guinevere said, her arm in his, as they moved back towards their room.

“Thank you,” he said with a faint smile. “I do not expect it to be the end of it, however.”

“You could make it the end of it. 

Arthur glanced at her, and shook his head. “I do not want to be that kind of king,” he said firmly. The kind of king who people did not dare disagree with. As frustrating as it was to have to continuously defend his views on the same issue over and over, it was better than the alternative.

It would harm Camelot for his councillors to believe they could not raise their concerns – contradictory to Arthur’s as they were.

Guinevere gave him a smile. “I’m proud of you.”

He smiled faintly, though dropped it a few moments later. “My father wouldn’t be.”

“Then your father would be wrong,” she said fiercely. Although he appreciated the determination with which she said it, it didn’t change how Arthur felt. Having spent his whole life trying to please his father, it did little to be told that he shouldn’t care what his father thought.

“You’re a good man, Arthur,” she said when he didn’t reply, stopping to look at him directly. “And a good king. Camelot is better because of you. We are better because of you.”

“I’ve only ever tried to make things better for this country.” He would have done anything for Camelot. He had stepped unflinchingly towards what could be his death numerous times to protect his people. “Camelot comes first.”

A lesson instilled in him since he was a child. A lesson that he believed whole heartedly. What was the point in being a king if it was not to protect his people? What was the point of the power he held if not to do better?

Guinevere looked at him. “Not always,” she said gently. “You are allowed to come first too. 

But would he be a king he was proud of, a man he was proud of, if he did not always put Camelot first? Would he have achieved what he wanted to achieve as a king if he did not put his people first?

The lessons his father had instilled in him as a child he had carried through all these years. _Camelot comes first._

“The people are more important than anything else, Guinevere.”

“I don’t disagree with that,” she said. “And I don’t want you become a selfish king. But… in the smaller things, you can come first. You can put your crown, and your duty, and everything else to the side, and be you.”

He had never been able to put his crown aside. He had never been anything less than Prince Arthur, King Arthur.

“You have to look after yourself, before you can look after anyone else, love.”

He did not speak right away, thinking about the words that she had said. He didn’t necessarily believe them, or that he was worthy of them. _Camelot comes first._ His father had been wrong about the magic laws. Perhaps his father had been wrong about other things too.

Maybe he didn’t have to work himself to death every second of the day to ensure that he was doing right by his people.

“We should go riding tomorrow,” Arthur said. “I still have to take you to my favourite place in the forest. I’ll get a picnic packed for us.”

Guinevere beamed, and gently pressed her shoulder against his. “I would love that,” she told him sincerely.

He kissed her forehead. “Then we will.”

* * *

Lucan moved around the room. From where he was standing, looking out his window into the courtyard, Arthur could hear the sounds of the bed getting made, clothes being put back into the cupboard. Otherwise the room was quiet.

 It never used to be this quiet.

Merlin was incapable of doing his job quietly. If he wasn’t chattering endlessly or making jabs at Arthur, then he was tripping over the chairs, or accidentally dropping things to the floor.

He sighed softly, his eyes trailing a serving girl as she darted through the courtyard below. He was still trying to adjust to how different things were. He missed it sometimes. He missed having that person in his life. He still had Guinevere, he had some of the knights, he had people he cared for, and who cared for him, but it was still different to lose Merlin.   

_You could change that. You could talk to him again. You could fix this._

_Do I want to fix this?_

He missed him sometimes, and he was reminded of him constantly. But he didn’t want to fix it. He didn’t want a person back in his life who had lied to him for so long, and who had harmed him so much. It hurt now, and it was clear what he was missing now, but it wouldn’t always.

Maybe one day, he’d be able to look back at the memories with a fondness of what _had_ been good. There had been good. The bad didn’t counteract that, no matter how bad it had been.

But he knew it was better for him to keep that distance. The past had been what it had been, good and bad. Some of those memories he would cherish, and he would be grateful for. But there was still the future ahead, and that future was going to be the best that he could make it.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
